


Hold On

by CaptainRex_ika



Series: If Life Could Give Me One Blessing [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Depression, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion Needs a Hug, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Kidnapping, Mental Breakdown, Nilfgaard, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Recovery, Torture, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:26:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 116,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22560196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainRex_ika/pseuds/CaptainRex_ika
Summary: It has been months since that day on the mountain, a day that left Jaskier alone.Now, he finds himself a captive of Nilfgaard, who just want Geralt and that child surprise of his, and they believe Jaskier is the way to get the White Wolf's attention.After all, he is known as the Witcher's Bard.Jaskier believes that this time Geralt won't come for him...not after that day.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: If Life Could Give Me One Blessing [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1830034
Comments: 1406
Kudos: 2673
Collections: Geralt is Sorry, The Witcher Alternate Universes, Witcher





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I'm totally new to this fandom but this story has been circling around my head for days and won't leave me be.
> 
> I only really know what's going on from the tv series and what I've read online, so don't judge me too harshly if I get something wrong...

Jaskier sat in the corner of the small, dingy inn, frowning slightly as he stared at the dark brown ale within the mug, barely paying attention to his surroundings as he watched the liquid shift and sway with every small movement of the table and of the one holding it. 

Jaskier’s gaze was pulled away from the very interesting liquid by the sound of a ruckus taking place. He watched as two burly men fought each other over a perceived slight before they were both unceremoniously thrown from the inn. He leaned back against the rough wooden wall behind him, taking a gulp of his ale before reaching down to touch the lute case leaning against his leg, just reassuring himself that it was still there. 

Soon he’d have to go up and sing once again if he wanted to eat this night. He had only enough coin to pay for his ale and a room for a couple of nights. He knew what songs would bring the most coin, but the thought of some of them made his heart twist with pain and heartbreak.

The songs about Geralt would be the ones to fetch him the most coin, but even the mere thought of the Witcher brought back memories of that day on the mountain, that horrible day. He could still hear Geralt’s voice snarling in his ear.

“ _If life can give me one blessing, it would be to take **you** off my hands_!”

Jaskier took another gulp of ale, briefly closing his eyes as that one sentence, that one horrible, snarled sentence echoed through his mind, making his stomach twist and his heart ache. 

Years he had followed Geralt, singing his praises and taking care of his wounds. Despite all of Geralt’s grumblings, he had truly thought that they were friends. He had seen the brief smiles and the amusement in Geralt’s golden eyes at times when Jaskier had rambled on or had gotten into some ridiculous position – but he knew Geralt was emotionally constipated and couldn’t actually come out and say that Jaskier was a friend because that would be showing emotion. 

Jaskier had thought though…until that day on the mountain with Yennefer. Jaskier grimaced at that. 

Yennefer.

Whenever she was there, the situation always became more complicated and Geralt became fixated on her. 

All he done was try to distract Geralt, to cheer him up once he saw that Yennefer had stormed away (yet again) and Geralt was standing there with a rigid spine, fists clenched by his side.

He hadn’t expected it to explode the way it did, with Geralt turning that rage onto him. 

As he had trudged down the mountain, he had lingered for a while, hoping that Geralt would calm down and would come past and things would go back to the way it was – but it hadn’t happened and Jaskier found that had caused the hurt to triple and he had slowly trudged his way out of town, lute clutched tightly in his hands. 

And now, months later, he was here, sitting in some inn in some small town, waiting for the weather to clear up from this dreadful rain so he could head to the next town, hopefully a bigger one with a chance to make more coin. 

“Bard!” 

Jaskier lifted his head, seeing the inn-keeper staring at him and sighed. He stood up, brushing down his dark blue doublet before picking up his loot and heading towards the small staged area. He pulled his beloved lute from its case, before he ran a hand through his chocolate brown locks, messing it up slightly, and fixing a smile upon a face. 

He adjusted his lute, taking in a deep breath to ignore the twisting sensation in his stomach, before he strummed the first note and began to sing.

Later, once he had collected a nice amount of coin, Jaskier went back to his corner, settling down there, sighing and letting the smile drop from his face. He ran a hand through his hair again, looking over the rather full inn, filled with travellers and locals hoping to escape the dreary rain, to stay dry and warm themselves by the fire while drinking to their pleasure.

Many a fair maiden looked his way, but Jaskier couldn’t find the energy to go and woo any of them. He just didn’t feel like it. Geralt would have frowned at him if Jaskier had told him that, maybe insisted that Jaskier rest or would check to see if perhaps he’d been poisoned or tested if he was a Doppler. 

Jaskier gave a bitter snort at that, leaning back against the wall, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. He opened them as he heard footsteps, seeing the inn-keeper walking towards him, placing a plate and a mug of ale down on the table.

“You did good, Bard,” the inn-keeper said. “Plenty of them want more ale, all in high spirits.”

“A Bard lives to entertain,” Jaskier responded, pulling the plate towards himself. The inn-keeper sat on the stool opposite, frowning as he looked at Jaskier, watching as Jaskier quickly dug into the warm meal. Jaskier glanced up at the inn-keeper as he ate, seeing he was watching him. 

The inn-keeper was quite young and well-kept compared to the other inn-keepers Jaskier had met over the years. 

Jaskier just turned his gaze back to his food.

“Are you okay, Jaskier?” the inn-keeper questioned. “Your heart doesn’t exactly seem to be in it when you sing some of your songs.”

Jaskier frowned at that, looking up. The inn-keeper just smiled at him.

“Been a long couple of months,” Jaskier muttered, grabbing the mug of ale. “A very long couple of months.”

The inn-keeper frowned at him, dark eyes darting over Jaskier’s face at that response, but he didn’t push it.

“Well, keep making my customers happy and I’ll pay you well,” the inn-keeper said before getting to his feet and heading back to the bar. Jaskier sighed, settling back to drink once again. 

He sat there, drinking, watching as the slightly inebriated patrons either stumbled home or up to their hired rooms. Soon, only a few remained, either still drinking, chatting, playing gwent or passed out at their tables. 

Jaskier sighed, rubbing his eyes. He should probably consider going up to his room and going to bed. Jaskier got to his feet, shouldering his lute case with the leather strap over his shoulder. 

Jaskier nodded to one of the barmaids before he headed down the hall where the stairs were located.

He was about to the stairs when two tall, cloaked figures stepped in his way.

“Uh, excuse me…” Jaskier said, trying to edge past them. One of them just stepped more firmly in his way, blocking his path. Jaskier looked up at the towering figure, fingers tightening around his lute case. 

“Uh, can I help you?” he tried instead. The man leaned over Jaskier, the hood falling back to reveal a sharp face with an even sharper grin. 

“The Witcher’s bard,” the man just stated. Jaskier’s blue eyes flickered over to the second one when he shifted, the man’s cloak moving just slightly enough that Jaskier caught a glimpse of the armour underneath.

That black armour.

Jaskier’s heart stuttered to a stop in fear.

Nilfgaard. 

“I…uh…well, sorry, I think you’ve got the wrong bard,” Jaskier stammered instead, mind racing. He knew Nilfgaard were getting closer, invading and burning more kingdoms down every day, but he hadn’t realised they were this close. “You know us, we’re a dime a dozen.”

The black haired one laughed, looking to the dark blond one. Jaskier swallowed, taking that moment to quickly try and pass him but a hand quickly snapped out to grasp Jaskier’s upper arm painfully tight. Jaskier barely bit back a whimper as he struggled against the hold.

“No other bard sings of the Witcher,” the black haired one spat in disgust. 

“Now that’s not true,” Jaskier insisted as he leaned back, looking as though he was trying to distance himself from the one holding him, when in fact he was reaching for the dagger stored in his boot. “I’ve heard many a bard sing my songs.”

The two soldiers smirked in triumph and Jaskier winced as he realised that he had just truly given himself away. Jaskier finally grabbed the dagger from his boot and brought it up, aiming it towards the soldier’s chest area, but the solider was quicker, grabbing Jaskier’s wrist with his free hand.

“Foolish,” he hissed as the blond one reached for it, painfully grabbing and pulling at Jaskier’s fingers until he released the dagger with it falling with a clatter to the floor. “Brave but foolish.”

Jaskier gasped in pain as he was slammed against the wall, back of his head connecting with the solid wall and causing lights to burst in his vision.

“Get his things,” he barely heard the black haired one hiss to the other. “He wants everything the bard has.”

Jaskier blinked repeatedly, trying to clear the double vision as the blond one disappeared. 

“How’d you know which room was mine?” he slurred slightly, gaining a rough laugh from the dark haired soldier and another shove against the wall which made Jaskier groan. 

“Been watching you all day, Bard,” growled the soldier. “Followed you as you went to your room and watched as you pranced about and then sat in the corner all night long.”

Jaskier shuddered at that, lifting his free hand up to try and shove at the solider. All that got him was a thick arm across his throat. He tugged at it futilely as he struggled under the arm, struggling to get a breath.

“Careful,” the blond one hissed as he came back down. “We have orders not to damage him!”

“Damage him too much,” the other muttered the correction, but relinquished his hold on Jaskier’s throat, quickly reaching down as Jaskier caught his breath. Jaskier’s breath caught as something sharp pricked his side and he glanced down to see his own dagger pressed against his side.

“Now, Bard,” the dark haired soldier growled. “We’re going to leave now. You’re going to come with us without a fuss or we will kill everyone here…and their blood will be on your hands. You come with us peacefully and you also will stay in one piece.”

Jaskier shuddered, not really wanting to go with them…but he couldn’t let them kill everyone here. He couldn’t live with being the cause of someone’s death – and he’d never forgive himself. 

“Smart decision.”

Jaskier winced as he was pulled off the wall and roughly turned around. The dark haired soldier placed on hand on his shoulder while keeping the knife dug slightly into Jaskier’s back, a stark reminder of what would happen if he displeased them. Jaskier pulled his lute closer to hug it into his chest, trying to stop his trembling hands.

“Move, Bard.”

Swallowing harshly, Jaskier willed himself to move with help of the small shove he was given and the all too stark reminder of that knife tip dug ever so slightly into the flesh at his back.

He was led back out into the main area of the inn, where the only ones remaining were the ones asleep. 

“Move,” came the hiss in his ear. Jaskier gave a shaky breath, panicked blue eyes darting around, hoping that someone would see and come to his aid, before he was moved towards the door. 

“Jaskier?”

Jaskier cringed at the voice, turning slightly to see the inn-keeper heading towards them, frowning. 

“Where are you going?” he asked, before his eyes flickered to the taller men flanking the lithe bard. “Jaskier, is everything okay?”

Jaskier stared at him, blue eyes wide and pleading, silently begging for the inn-keeper to go away and get help or just to go away to safety.

“Everything is fine,” the dark haired soldier replied, knife tip digging just that little more into Jaskier’s back, reminding him of the consequences. “The bard just agreed to come with us…for a performance, right, _Jaskier_?”

“R-Right,” Jaskier managed to get out. “R-Really, i-it’s fine.”

The inn-keeper’s frown deepened, not convinced. The blond soldier stepped up then, dark cloak shifted slightly so the inn-keeper could see that he had his hand rested on the hilt of his sword. 

The inn-keeper’s eyes widened as he looked to Jaskier, who tried to give his usual smile though it was shaky and fell way short of the reassuring mark.

“You’re not going to hurt him, are you?” the inn-keeper asked instead, looking to the soldiers.

“There’s just a few things we need to ask him, then he can prance on his merry way,” the dark haired soldier smirked. The inn-keeper didn’t look convinced.

The blond soldier pulled a small coin purse, dropping it on the nearby table. 

“Go back to your duties and you will live to see another day,” he warned. The inn-keeper backed away a few steps at that and the soldiers took that chance to steer Jaskier out of the inn and into the dreary weather.

“Don’t see why we couldn’t just kill them,” the dark haired soldier muttered to the other.

“Because word needs to get around,” the blond one snapped back. “Now, hurry up, Ren. We’re behind schedule.” 

Jaskier clutched tighter to his lute case as he was led towards the stables where two horses were tied and waiting.

“Oh, looks like we’re short a horse,” Jaskier tried to appear his usual confident self, but the chattering teeth ruined the effect. “Looks like we’ll just have to wai-hey!” 

His beloved lute had been yanked out of his hands as he spoke and Jaskier found himself jerking towards it before the dark haired soldier, Ren, yanked him back with the tight, almost painful grip on his shoulder.

“Give that back!” Jaskier protested, squirming against the hold, forcing Ren to wrap his arm around the bard’s lean chest and hold him tight.

“Calm yourself,” the blond one snapped, gaining Jaskier’s attention. Jaskier drooped slightly in relief as he saw that the blond soldier had just strapped the lute to the back of the horse. “Don’t make us hurt you.”

Jaskier struggled anyway. 

Sure, there was dagger still being held at his side now, but there was no-one here for the Nilfgaard to kill to make him comply. They could only kill him…but since they wanted him alive, Jaskier was willing to take a chance.

However, breaking free of the brute’s grasp was another issue. 

“Will you hurry the fuck up?!” Ren hissed to his soldier companion. “He’s starting to irritate me.”

“Well, if you just let me go, you don’t need to be irritated by me and I can just be on my merry way…we all win,” Jaskier tried before grunting in pain as Ren tightened his hold around Jaskier’s chest.

“Here,” the blond one sighed as he came back to them, the packs tied onto the horses. “Hold him still.”

“What the fuck do you think I’m doing?!”

Jaskier struggled fiercely when the blond one grabbed his hands, tying his wrists tightly together with rope.

“Hold his head still,” the blond one ordered. Ren dropped the dagger so he could reach up and grab Jaskier’s head, yanking it back so it was resting firmly against his pauldron, holding Jaskier firm and still. 

Jaskier kicked out, trying his best to break free as a cloth was placed over his mouth and nose.

“Wriggly little bastard,” Ren chuckled as Jaskier tried to free himself, though the attempts were becoming weaker as the concoction on the cloth stole his consciousness. 

“Still don’t see why they think the Witcher will come for him,” Jaskier faintly heard the blond one say as he slumped in Ren’s grasp, his limbs becoming heavy and unresponsive as darkness crept into the edge of his vision.

The last thought that ran through Jaskier’s mind, as his stomach dropped, was that they were going to be terribly disappointed.

He knew Geralt wouldn’t come for him.

Then everything went dark.


	2. Cahir

Awareness slowly clawed its way back to Jaskier, making him moan softly. Pain arched down his back, down his legs and throbbed in his head, making him struggle to open his eyes. Jaskier groaned once again, head throbbing in time with his heart beat. 

Something sickly sweet and cloying sat in the back of his throat, making him retch. 

Jaskier moaned as he managed to force his eyes open. Grass and dirt passed underneath him as he struggled to lift his head, glancing to the side to horse feet. 

He sighed, retching again as he settled back down, shifting slightly to see how much he could move. He was draped over the back of a horse and judging by how little he could move, he was firmly tied to the back. 

Jaskier clenched his eyes shut again, his head still throbbing in time with his heart beat. The movement became too much and he threw up, his body determined to get any trace of that potion out of his system. 

There was a sound of disgust from above him and a hand clenched in the back of his doublet, yanking him up slightly.

“Make sure he doesn’t choke on his vomit before we get there,” another voice said. 

“He’ll be fine if he doesn’t vomit on me,” came the grumbled response from Ren. Jaskier retched again, moaning softly. He slowly opened his eyes again, wincing as he shifted his sore muscles, aching from being trussed over the horse for who knows how long. Jaskier looked up, squinting at the sky the best that he could in his position. 

It was cloudy, but the sun was beginning to break through. 

Jaskier groaned again, slumping against the horse. It had been late when the soldiers had grabbed him. Clearly they had been riding through the night to get to wherever it was they were going. 

He glared down at his bound hands as the horses continued to trot on. Plan after plan went through his head, but with how he was bound to the horse, with the soldiers sitting right there, there was no way he could escape without them re-capturing him and then beating the shit out of him. 

So he kept his eyes open, waiting for the right opportunity to arise. 

Soon enough, they arrived at a town. Jaskier lifted his head up so he could watch as the soldiers led the horses through the town with a leisurely gait. Nilfgaardian soldiers lined either side of the street, some sitting and resting, while others leaned against the wall, watching with sharp eyes. Jaskier shuddered somewhat when he realised that he only saw Nilfgaard soldiers. 

He couldn’t see any of the town’s original occupants. 

The soldiers finally pulled their horses to a stop in front of a large house, where the mayor of this town probably once lived, and swiftly dismounted. Jaskier glared up at the large, stone building as it loomed over him, ominous, and knowing whoever ordered his kidnapping was just inside. 

Jaskier tensed as he felt the ropes tying him to the horse loosen and barely had any time to prepare himself before he was yanked down from it, causing him to land in a dusty heap on the ground. 

There were chuckles above him and Jaskier peeked up, catching sight of the woods in the distance. Hope and determination gripped at him.

If he could make it to the woods, he could make it free. Jaskier chanced back a look at his lute, still tied upon the second horse, before looking away, grimly resigning himself to the fact that he’d have to leave it behind. 

Jaskier glanced to the side, seeing two pairs of armour cladded legs standing beside him and quickly reacted. He kicked his legs out, sweeping the legs of one of the soldiers out from beneath him which sent him careening into the solider beside him. 

Jaskier quickly scrambled away across the dirt, pushing himself up to his feet and bolting towards the woods, ignoring the yells behind him and inwardly apologizing to his lute for leaving it behind but its sacrifice wouldn’t be forgotten. 

Jaskier had barely cleared the estate when he glanced back to check on who was chasing after him, when something suddenly hit him from the side, tackling him down to the soft, dewy grass. Jaskier struggled against the one who had tackled him, kicking out and trying to break free. 

He was swiftly rolled onto his stomach, bound hands now trapped beneath him, a heavy weight settling in on his back, knees digging painfully into the soft flesh of Jaskier’s thighs. A hand pressed down against the back of Jaskier’s head, forcing his face down into the wet grass. Jaskier continued to struggle, ignoring the dampness seeping into his light blue, silk clothes. 

“Slippery bastard,” a voice growled. 

“Should have kept a better eye on him,” came the snide reply from the one currently sitting on Jaskier’s back. The weight on Jaskier’s back shifted before a hand grasped the collar of Jaskier’s doublet and yanked him up to his feet. Jaskier glared at the two soldiers who stood in front of him, the ones who abducted him. Ren, the dark haired soldier, glared back, fury within those dark eyes. 

Jaskier’s head snapped to the side at the force of the backhand, pain immediately erupting across his cheek. He blinked, somewhat dazed, and looked back to Ren, who stepped forward to tower over the lean bard. 

“Try that again and I will make sure you break,” Ren promised darkly, reaching up to grab Jaskier’s jaw, forcing Jaskier to look at him. Jaskier glared back, blue eyes defiant.  
“Got it?”

Jaskier winced as the grip on his jaw got tighter, gloved fingers digging into his abused cheek. He barely managed to give a nod and Ren let go. Jaskier shifted his jaw, wincing at the ache in his cheek left from the vicious backhand.

“Let’s go,” the soldier behind Jaskier said, pushing him forward with the grip that he had on Jaskier’s collar. Jaskier stumbled back to the stately home, the tight grip on his collar making sure he didn’t run off anywhere, his stomach dropping with each step closer. 

The blond soldier broke off to go back to his horse while Jaskier was forced inside the building. Jaskier barely had time to look inside the entry before he was being dragged off down a side hallway. He was forced down the dark hallways, being pushed past the twist and turns, down a flight of stairs, until they reached the dark landing of the cellar. 

Jaskier struggled against the grip on his collar with renewed ferocity then, hating the cold and creepiness of the dark, cold cellar. 

“Let go you twice fucked…!” Jaskier started snarling under his breath. There was a curse as the soldier lost his grip and Jaskier stumbled forward…into something hard. Jaskier slowly peered up, seeing an unamused face staring back down at him. Jaskier backed up a step, heart racing in his chest, when his collar was immediately grabbed once again. 

The other man stepped closer to examine Jaskier. Jaskier looked back, setting his jaw as he glared back. The man examining him was tall, with thin brown hair and sunken blue eyes which were narrowed as he stared at Jaskier. He was wearing dark clothes, the kind worn under armour. 

The man looked over Jaskier to the men holding him back.

“This is the Witcher’s bard?” 

“Yes, sir,” Ren replied. “We got him at an inn a few towns over.” 

The man hummed, looking back to Jaskier and raising an eyebrow as he took in the damp, grass stained silk blue clothes and the red mark across the left side of Jaskier’s face.

“He put up a fight?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in disbelief that this lean, fancy dressed bard would be a challenge for his trained men.

“He looks small, sir, but he’s a slippery bastard,” Ren replied, giving Jaskier a slight shake. The man nodded, eyes still fixed firmly on Jaskier’s face. 

Jaskier glared back, determined for this bastard not to know how fast his heart was racing in his chest.

“Get him set up and bring his belongings down here,” he ordered. Jaskier was pulled away and towards a thick wooden door nearing the end of the cellar. The solider opened the door, allowing Ren to drag Jaskier in. Jaskier’s struggles increased when he saw the sturdy wooden chair in the centre of the dark, cold, windowless, stone room. 

Jaskier was forced down, being held in place by Ren as the other soldier began shackling Jaskier’s ankles to the chair. Ren pushed down on Jaskier as the other soldier cut loose Jaskier’s wrists, quickly capturing them and forcing them back behind the chair and shackling them together. Jaskier cried out in frustration, struggling against the cold iron bonds. 

If it was rope there would be a chance that he could somehow break out of it, but with these shackles…there was no hope unless unlocked by a key. Ren smirked, patting Jaskier’s face condescendingly. Jaskier glared up at him as the two soldiers backed away.

“Have fun,” Ren snorted as they left the room, closing the door. Jaskier was left in the cold, damp cellar which was barely illuminated by the candles on the wooden table to the side. He struggled against the bonds fruitlessly, knowing they wouldn’t give but unable to resist, just praying that he’d find some sort of weakness.

He wasn’t sure how long he was in there by himself, shivering as the dampness from the dewy grass outside finally chilled on his skin. 

He looked up as the door opened, seeing the blond soldier walking in, carrying Jaskier’s belongings. He straightened up when he saw his lute.

“Hey! Careful with that!” he cried out as the blond soldier dropped the case on the ground without care. “Ugh, uncultured swine…” he grumbled. 

The blond soldier left the room and it was only moments later when the brown haired man walked back in.

“I take it you’re the one who sent for me?” Jaskier sniped, glaring. 

“Yes,” the man said simply as he went to investigate Jaskier’s belongings. Jaskier watched as he picked up one of his bags, placing it on the table. “I am Cahir.”

“Can’t say it’s a pleasure,” Jaskier said, which only gained a small chuckle from the man. “Hey! Don’t touch my things!”

Cahir glanced back at him, uncaring, before he went back to digging through Jaskier’s belongings. Jaskier gritted his teeth, looking away for a moment. 

“I don’t know what you want, but I can tell you, I don’t have it!” Jaskier tried instead. “Really, I’m just a bard…I sing, I dance, I write poetry…and unless you’re looking for someone to write you a song, I don’t have anything to offer you…”

“You talk a lot,” Cahir just stated as he pulled out small bottles from the bag, frowning at them. “It’s not a song I seek from you. It’s information.”

“Again, don’t have it.”

“You don’t even know what I’m going to ask you,” Cahir said, amused, as he opened a bottle to tentatively sniff at the liquid contents. “Do you really need so many perfumes?”

“Try living on the road with someone who kills monsters,” Jaskier retorted. “I can tell you, the smell of selkimore guts is repulsive.”

Cahir turned to look at Jaskier at that, tilting his head curiously. 

“The Witcher,” he hummed, which made Jaskier sigh, shaking his head. Cahir approached Jaskier, crouching in front of him. “Do you know where he is now? You are his bard, singing his praises, surely you must keep track of him?”

“I don’t,” Jaskier snapped, glaring at Cahir. “I don’t know where he is…haven’t for months now.”

“Hmm…pity,” Cahir murmured, straightening up. “You see, he has something I want…someone I need.”

Jaskier looked up curiously at that. “Oh?”

Cahir gave a tight smile as he looked down at Jaskier. “Just tell me how to find him, that’s all. I’ll reunite the bard with his Witcher and I’ll take care of Princess Cirilla.”

“Ciri?” Jaskier breathed, shocked. It had been years since he had last seen the young Princess, Calanthe’s pride and joy, the spitting image of her mother Pavetta. He remembered watching the young Princess dance at that gathering, knowing that she was Geralt’s child surprise. That thought had amused him until he had seen Geralt next, knowing he was still trying to deny their destinies, so he didn’t tell him about Ciri, not wanting to anger him and cause another djinn incident. 

“You know her,” Cahir murmured, intrigued as he crouched in front of Jaskier again.

Jaskier looked at Cahir in disbelief, swallowing uncomfortably at the intensity in Cahir’s gaze. 

“What do you want from her?”

“It’s difficult to explain,” Cahir chuckled, “but know that she won’t come to any harm. I just need to know where she is.”

“I don’t know,” Jaskier told him, causing Cahir to sigh. 

“Fine, we’ll say you don’t know to find your Witcher,” Cahir said, staring at Jaskier. “Do you know his weaknesses? I’d rather not risk the Princess as collateral when we do find them.”

Jaskier just stared at him, his disbelief growing, before shaking his head.

“No, I’m not going to tell you anything that could hurt Geralt or Ciri,” Jaskier hissed. “He’s going to _destroy_ you.”

Cahir stood up at that, looking displeased but unpersuaded. He stared at Jaskier for a moment longer before heading to the door and opening it. 

Jaskier tilted his head back and laughed as a woman strode in.

“No, no, no,” Jaskier laughed. “I am not dealing with anymore _fucking_ crazy mages!”

Cahir looked intrigued at that. “Do you know who he is talking about, Fringilla?” 

The dark skinned mage tilted her head, regarding the laughing captive. 

“From the stories I’ve heard, I believe it is Yennefer,” Fringilla replied as she circled the bound bard. “She’s the one the Witcher runs to, isn’t she, Bard?”

Jaskier scowled at her, looking away. 

“I believe that is a yes,” Cahir said, smirking. Fringilla smiled, still circling the trapped bard. 

“Just tell us where they are, Bard,” Fringilla murmured in his ear, causing Jaskier to jerk away and glare at her.

Jaskier just set his jaw, glaring at her. Fringilla looked to Cahir, who was still looking thoughtful.

“Cahir?” 

“The Witcher will come for him,” Cahir stated confidently. “After all of those years travelling together, he will come. I know he will, but we need to get him to talk, to find out what we can about the Witcher so we can prepare.”

Jaskier gave a bitter laugh, tilting his head back so he could stare at the ceiling.

“Sorry to disappoint but he won’t come for me,” Jaskier told them, unable to keep the bitterness from creeping into his voice.

Of course they would use him to get to Geralt, like a damsel in distress.

“Why is that?” Fringilla asked, gaining an empty smile from the bard.

“Because he gets his wish,” Jaskier said simply. “Life has blessed his wish and has taken me off of his hands for good…why would he come for me?”

Fringilla and Cahir stared at the bard for a moment before they moved to towards the door. Jaskier just tilted his head up so he could stare at the ceiling.

He knew they would kill him. He had nothing to offer them otherwise. 

Jaskier knew part of him should be panicking about that, to make a deal with them…but he couldn’t bring himself to. They wanted him to betray Geralt and despite how much Geralt had hurt him that day on the mountain, Jaskier would never ever betray him, betray his trust. 

Geralt was still his friend, even if he was a bit of a shitty one, even if Geralt didn’t see him as his friend. 

And if him dying meant that Geralt and Ciri were kept safe then so be it. He wouldn’t have to live with the hurt then, the knowledge that he betrayed his friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Jaskier, but trying to write him and do him justice is so hard!


	3. Interrogation

Cahir and Fringilla stepped out of the room, leaving the bard staring up at the ceiling, seemingly uncaring. 

“He’s surprising,” Cahir chuckled softly, glancing through the open door and to the bard. “I was expecting crying and begging from a mere bard, but I believe this is why he lasted so long being the Witcher’s companion.”

“What do you want to do?” Fringilla asked curiously. “He isn’t going to talk.”

Cahir looked back to the bard thoughtfully before looking back to Fringilla.

“You’re a mage, isn’t there a way you could make him talk?” Cahir questioned. Fringilla looked thoughtful at that, tilting her head before she gave a small nod.

“Yes, yes, I believe there’s a potion I can make,” she said thoughtfully. “I will need some time to gather the right herbs. It won’t be a hundred percent effective but it will make him more inclined to tell the truth.”

“That will have to do,” Cahir sighed, folding his arms across his chest. “If he can give us the slightest edge over the Witcher, it’ll make things easier so we can grab the princess.”

Fringilla nodded in agreement, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips. She glanced at the dejected bard before her smirk faltered somewhat.

“How long do the rumours say the bard was the Witcher’s companion?” she asked curiously, tilting her head before looking back to Cahir. Cahir suddenly looked thoughtful at that as he turned his gaze to the bard. 

“I believe it is over a decade,” Cahir answered, sounding curious now as he stared at the bard. “He does look rather young, does he not? I don’t believe he has been wandering with the Witcher since he was a child.”

“Another question to add to the list,” Fringilla murmured, turning her gaze away from Jaskier. “I want to know why…there are so many possibilities.” 

“Get onto it then,” Cahir said, looking to her. “We must bring the princess back to our Emperor.”

Fringilla bowed her head. “As the White Flame commanded, as he foresaw.” 

Cahir nodded again, watching as Fringilla swept off, her silver-grey robes sweeping out against the dark grey stone of the cellar. Cahir turned back to face the bard, brow furrowing as he examined him. 

The bard had shifted so his chin was resting against his chest now, the soft looking chestnut hair falling in front of what Cahir could see of his face. His silky, fine blue clothing was covered in dirt and grass stains, with rips adorning the once expensive fabric. 

Cahir was rather surprised thinking about how elegant and flashy that outfit must have been…and how much it seemed to suit the blue eyed bard. 

It also surprised him that this well dressed bard followed the Witcher across the Continent, sleeping rough and witnessing the Witcher take down monsters. 

It was rather baffling and yet it gave character to this bard, showing he was more than just some showy singer. Cahir would take care not to underestimate him like his men had.  
If someone like this bard could keep up with the Witcher – and the Witcher allowed him to accompany him in return – then there must be something about him…something more. 

Cahir was looking forward to finding out more about this bard, to dig beneath the surface, to see how far this loyalty to the Witcher went and how he could exploit it. 

Jaskier lifted his head when he heard the click of heels, giving a sigh as he saw Cahir standing there, leaning against the doorway as he watched him…as he had been watching him for the last hour or so. 

“Your crazy mage is back,” Jaskier told him simply, gaining a smirk from Cahir. 

“You don’t like mages, I’m guessing?” Cahir asked, glancing down the hall to see Fringilla coming towards him. 

“I’ve been around enough crazy mages for a life time,” Jaskier shrugged. 

“Yennefer always had to be better, to get her way,” Fringilla explained coldly as she walked to Cahir’s side, gaining a look from Jaskier. “In the end, it was her undoing. I became the mage to Nilfgaard, to see the White Flame, our rightful Emperor take back the throne, while she struggles to find her meaning.”

Jaskier just blinked, brows pulling down slightly before he sighed. 

Cahir watched as Jaskier subtly tested the bonds once again, smirking slightly. Well, the bard definitely had spark, not willing to give up so easily. He turned to Fringilla, who held up a small vial.

“That’s it?” he asked, walking closer to examine the dark blue liquid within the glass vial. He looked to Jaskier, seeing he had straightened up slightly, sky blue eyes narrowed as he stared at the vial with trepidation. He looked to Fringilla once more before he walked to the bard’s side, grabbing a handful of the soft brown locks and yanking his head back and gripping his jaw with his free hand, wrenching it open. 

The bard thrashed in the seat he was bound to, but Cahir’s grip was too strong, allowing Fringilla to pour the potion directly down the bard’s throat. 

Cahir let the coughing bard go, taking a step back.

Jaskier lifted his head up, staring up at Cahir with watery eyes. 

“What was that?” Jaskier rasped. 

“A type of truth serum,” Fringilla answered easily, moving closer so she could peer into Jaskier’s eyes. Jaskier arched his head back, glaring at Fringilla as he did so, trying to get away from the crazy mage. 

“It should take effect shortly,” Fringilla murmured, leaning back and looking to Cahir. Cahir nodded, turning to search through the rest of Jaskier’s bag while they waited. He arched an eyebrow when he pulled out more of the fine clothing, all brightly coloured with different patterns and cuts. Cahir ran his fingers over the soft silk and the gentle materials of the finery, giving a small hum. Clothes of this finery and materials would have cost the bard quite a pretty coin.

“You do have a lot of fine clothing,” Cahir said out loud. “Much finer than I expected for the one who travels with a Witcher.”

“I work in courts,” Jaskier spat. “Can’t show up wearing clothes covered in kikimora guts.”

“No, I suppose not,” Cahir agreed with a chuckle. “That sounds about right, doesn’t it, Fringilla?”

“The selfish Queens and Kings are always so focused on finery and merriment while their people starve,” Fringilla agreed darkly. Jaskier just arched an eyebrow as he gave a small shrug.

“Job’s a job,” he murmured, a slight slur to his words. Fringilla perked up at that, leaning forward to examine Jaskier again. 

“What’s your name, bard?” she asked him, staring into his eyes. Jaskier grimaced before shaking his head as though trying to clear a daze.

“Julian Alfred Pankratz,” he muttered before shaking his head once again. “No, I’m Jaskier now.”

“Julian Alfred Pankratz?” Fringilla questioned curiously. Jaskier just clenched his teeth together, shaking his head as he fought against the _need_ to answer.

“Why the name change, _Jaskier_?” Cahir asked instead, gaining Jaskier’s attention.

“Disowned by family,” Jaskier said, sounding as though he was fighting against the words. “Was never good enough, never acting right for a Viscount…so I ran away and they disowned me.”

“And became Jaskier the Bard instead,” Cahir murmured, gaining a jerky nod from Jaskier. 

“S’much better,” Jaskier mumbled. “No one expects anything, just get to be free to do what I want, love who I want.”

Cahir stared at Jaskier for a moment, watching as Jaskier shook his head again, looking almost dazed. 

“What can you tell us about your Witcher?” Cahir continued to question.

“Not mine,” Jaskier said stubbornly. “Told me he wanted me gone, that life would take me off his hands, looks like he got his wish after all, huh?” 

Cahir frowned, reaching up to rub at his chin thoughtfully. Jaskier was good at skirting around questions or finding something within them that wouldn’t be important.  
He’d have to tread carefully. 

“Did you used to treat the Witcher’s wounds?” he pressed, making sure there were no loop holes for Jaskier to slip through. Jaskier bit his lip, the urge to talk getting overwhelming…and not in his usual way. 

The urge became almost painful and Jaskier whimpered. 

“Just let it go, Jaskier,” Cahir whispered. “Just answer my question and the pain will stop.”

“Yes,” Jaskier gasped out, his blue eyes looking pained as they looked up at Cahir. “I-I used to help Geralt treat his wounds…but he healed fast. Witcher thing.” 

“But he can be wounded,” Cahir murmured almost to himself. “He can be slowed down. Poisons…how does he react to them?”

Cahir watched as Jaskier thrashed in his bonds, so desperate not to answer that he bit his lip hard enough to bleed. The loyalty of the bard was admirable…though slightly annoying. He just needed Jaskier to talk. 

“Poisons, Jaskier,” Cahir said firmly. “Tell me if they affect him.”

“Some, not all,” Jaskier burst out, making Cahir sigh. 

Of course, the bard had found a way to answer without truly answering. 

“How do they affect him if it is a poison that affects him?”

“Drowsiness, slow reactions, fever, unconsciousness,” Jaskier rambled before swearing profusely and biting his tongue. Cahir nodded, glancing at Fringilla who was staring at the bard. 

Fringilla leaned close to Cahir so she could whisper in his ear, “We need to be careful not to cause too much distress. There is a chance it could cause his heart to give out.”

Cahir gave her an unimpressed look, dark blue eyes narrowing unhappily, not happy that she hadn’t warned him of that beforehand. 

Cahir turned his attention to Jaskier, crouching in front of him again and trying to appear as non-threatening as he could, hoping to lull the bard into some sort of ease. 

“Let’s not talk about him for a moment,” Cahir murmured to him. Jaskier lifted his head, breathing raggedly, so he could stare at Cahir in disbelief. Cahir just smiled at him.

“I’ve heard the talk that you travelled with him for years, at least a decade, is that correct?” he asked. Jaskier arched an eyebrow.

“Thought we weren’t going to talk about him,” slurred Jaskier. 

“Not about his weaknesses,” Cahir corrected, watching as Jaskier sighed, head lolling about loosely on his neck. 

“It’s true,” Jaskier murmured, albeit a little bitterly. “Then it changed.”

“I doubt you were a child when you started following him,” Cahir continued. “Tell me, Jaskier, how are you still so young? Are you a Halfling of some sort?”

Jaskier gave a slightly hysterical laugh, tilting his head back, the sound of his laughter echoing throughout the room.

“Another reason I hate mages,” Jaskier admitted weakly, not bothering to even attempt to lie or hold this story back. “Before I met Geralt, when I just left home, I performed in a tavern, trying to make some coin…but I came under the attention of a local witch.”

Cahir arched an eyebrow at that in surprise, but stayed silent, waiting for Jaskier to continue. 

“She said she was entranced by me and offered to pay me handsomely if I played for her, so I foolishly agreed…blinded by her beauty and hungry. I went back to her home and played for her, but she refused to let me go afterwards, trapping me with a spell and calling me her ‘caged songbird’,” Jaskier said bitterly, quietly. “She was obsessed with collecting beautiful things and she feared that as I aged I would lose my beauty…so she made sure I aged as slowly as possible so she could keep me for longer. I age five times slower than I should, both a blessing and a curse, I guess.”

“How did you escape her?” Cahir asked curiously.

“Another one of her ‘beautiful creatures’ had enough and attacked her…I ran during the chaos,” Jaskier admitted quietly. 

Cahir looked to Fringilla, finding she was looking surprised by what she just heard.

“What did your Witcher think of that?” Cahir asked him. Jaskier just gave another bitter laugh, shaking his head.

“I never told him and he never asked, don’t even think he noticed,” Jaskier muttered. Cahir hummed at that, standing up once more. Jaskier watched him, blue eyes resigned.

“More questions about Geralt now, right? Your curiosity about my unchanging good looks been satisfied?” Jaskier bit out, gaining an unimpressed look from Fringilla but an amused one from Cahir. 

“For now,” Cahir said simply. “But, yes, back onto the questions about the Witcher…Geralt, is it?” 

Jaskier sighed, slumping back into his seat, exhausted. 

“I’m not going to tell you,” Jaskier told him firmly, lifting his chin defiantly. “Despite everything…I won’t let you hurt him.”

“Even though he hurt you?” Cahir asked, gaze fixed firmly on Jaskier’s face, enough to see the flinch. “Even though he wished life would take you away from him? Despite all you’ve done for him? Cleaning his wounds and writing him that song that has helped changed the public opinion on Witchers?” 

Jaskier’s jaw tensed as he clenched his teeth shut, beginning to tremble with the exertion of attempting not to speak. 

“Just let it out, Jaskier,” crooned Cahir. “It will feel so much better if you do.” 

“I don’t care that he hurt me or t-that he doesn’t care!” Jaskier burst out, unable to control it anymore. “He doesn’t like calling me his friend, but he’s still mine, no matter what a-and I won’t let you hurt him or Cirilla!” 

“Brave little bard, aren’t you?” Cahir murmured, watching as Jaskier’s eyelids drooped, looking to Fringilla.

“The potion is almost at its end,” she informed him. “He will sleep once it is through.”

Cahir looked back to Jaskier, leaning over the quickly tiring bard. 

“Just give me something we can use,” Cahir murmured to him. “Give me something and your Witcher will not be harmed.” 

Jaskier just shook his head, smiling tiredly. “I won’t,” he said simply, voice beginning to soften as his eyes drooped even further. “When you go up against him, you’re gonna lose. Geralt…Geralt won’t let you hurt Cirilla if he really is with her.”

Cahir watched as Jaskier’s eyes finally shut, the bard going limp in sleep. He stepped back with a sigh, slightly frustrated that he hadn’t truly learnt anything that could help him subdue the Witcher so that Cirilla wasn’t accidentally harmed as collateral. 

“Well, that wasn’t as fruitful as I hoped,” Fringilla spoke up, coming to stand by his side in front of the bard. “What do we do with him now?”

Cahir was quiet for a moment as he regarded the unconscious bard, watching as his chest lifted and fell evenly as he slept deeply due to the potions effects. 

“We’re going to bring him with us,” Cahir informed her, surprising her. “The Witcher will come for him, especially once he hears that he is our captive.”

“You heard the bard,” Fringilla said, indicating to the unconscious captive. “The Witcher wanted him gone. What makes you think that he will come for him? What makes you think that the Witcher actually cares? Everyone knows that Witchers don’t have emotions.”

“I don’t believe that,” Cahir said, smirking, folding his arms across his chest as he regarded the young bard in front of him. “The Witcher, known for being solitary, allowed this one to accompany him for years. He trusted him to treat his wounds, to be by his side and accompany him while he fought monsters. The Witcher even went to Cintra’s court to protect the bard the night of Pavetta’s betrothal.” 

Cahir looked to Fringilla, dark blue eyes triumphant. 

“I know the Witcher will come for him…but, if I’m wrong, I am sure our Emperor will find a use for him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to add in a bit about why Jaskier doesn't age...I want him to live forever :P
> 
> Sorry it's taken a little while...I do usually write a bit quicker than this but I got some work and I've been exhausted


	4. Sass

Jaskier slowly blinked to awareness, lifting his head and wincing as a deep ache made itself present at the back of his neck due to the time he spent asleep with his head angled down in such a way. He looked around his silent, stone cell, sighing heavily as he leaned back against the wooden chair he was bound to. He winced as he shifted his fingers, pins and needles erupting throughout his hands at the movement. 

Once the pain had subsided, Jaskier leaned his head back, looking at the dark, non-descript ceiling. He couldn’t believe how much he had told them. He knew he wasn’t to fully blame, that the mage had stirred up some sort of horrid concoction to make him talk…but he still couldn’t stop the guilt swirling his stomach, tightening and almost making it hard to breathe. 

He had tried so hard to fight against it, to only give answers that wouldn’t give anything away…but that bastard Cahir knew how to push, how to question. Now he knew that Geralt could be injured, that some poisons – which could kill a human – could affect Geralt and slow him down. 

Still, there was numerous poisons in the world and only a handful of them did affect Geralt, so Cahir still had his work cut out for him. 

Jaskier frowned as he straightened up, looking around his quiet cell once more. His bags were still on the table, the contents within them having been somewhat rifled through, and his lute was leaning against the leg of the wooden table. 

He was still surprised to be alive to be truly honest. After doing his best to skirt around questions and annoying Cahir and the mage, he thought they would have killed him for annoying them so. 

Yet here he was.

Jaskier didn’t know what else they could get from him. Geralt wouldn’t come for him; he had made that perfectly clear on the mountain…so why keep him?

His frown deepened as he thought of the questions asked, why Cahir was interested in knowing about him and who he was.

He looked towards the door when it opened and, thinking of the devil, Cahir strolled in.

“You’re awake,” Cahir said, gaining an arched eyebrow from Jaskier.

“Really? I thought I was still asleep,” Jaskier snarked; tired and sore and not having any self-preservation instinct this morning it seemed. Cahir just blinked, looking startled by that response.

He must not be used to being sassed, being a Commander and all, Jaskier thought bitterly as he stared at him.

“Right,” Cahir murmured, tilting his head as he regarded the bound, dishevelled bard glaring at him. Cahir walked over to the table, glancing over at Jaskier’s bags before he closed them, setting them aside. 

Jaskier looked to the door as he heard more footsteps, scowling as Ren walked in. Ren smirked at him before he walked over to Cahir. 

“Take these and secure them to Fringilla’s horse,” Cahir ordered him. Ren nodded, hefting the bag up and over his shoulder before he carelessly grabbed the lute, the case banging against the table leg, which caused Jaskier to strain against his bonds.

“Careful with that, you careless fucker!” Jaskier snarled, blue eyes flashing dangerously, straining against the ropes tying him to the chair. Ren arched an eyebrow at Jaskier, sneering slightly, though that expression quickly disappeared at Cahir’s chuckle.

“He’s right, do be careful with that,” Cahir warned, smirking. “After all, what use is a bard without his instrument?” 

Jaskier’s scowl grew heavier at that. There was more to his bard than his instrument, not that any of these uncultured beasts would know that. 

Ren sniggered as he carried the bags and the lute from the room, though a little more carefully now he had been reprimanded. 

Jaskier watched cautiously as Cahir walked over to him. He barely kept from flinching as Cahir leaned down to be on level with Jaskier, staring intently into his eyes.

“I’m going to undo your bonds,” Cahir told him, voice low yet carrying a dangerous edge. “Do not be foolish and try to attack me or try to escape. You won’t get far…and you will be punished for it.”

Jaskier stared into Cahir’s gaze, seeing the promise within the dark blue eyes. He swallowed deeply before giving a small nod, sighing. He knew he wouldn’t be able to escape the town alive even if he did manage to run. 

The Nilfgaard were everywhere. 

Cahir nodded, confident that Jaskier wouldn’t do anything foolish, before he undid the shackles around Jaskier’s ankles. He quickly rounded the chair, undoing only one of the shackles, leaving the other attached to Jaskier’s left wrist. 

Jaskier carefully moved his arms, wincing as his tense muscles shifted and ached, pulling them out in front of him and stretching. Cahir rounded the chair once more to stand in front of him. The Commander stood there, arms folding across his chest as he regarded Jaskier, his thin brown hair falling across his face.

“Up,” he ordered instead, stepping back to give Jaskier room. Jaskier carefully stood up, wincing as the blood rushed back into his legs after sitting in that chair for many hours.   
Cahir stepped back again, motioning for Jaskier to follow him. Jaskier took a step before staggering, his foot still asleep from not moving. Cahir caught him by the upper arm before he went down, pulling him back upright with a smirk. 

Jaskier scowled, trying to pull his arm back, but was unable to pull away from Cahir’s strong grip. 

“Hands,” ordered Cahir. “Put them in front of you.”

Jaskier sighed, but did as ordered…and only then did Cahir release his upper arm, instead turning his attention on re-shackling Jaskier’s wrists, this time in front of him. Cahir examined the shackles and the chain links between them, fingers deftly checking for any weaknesses made from Jaskier’s struggles. Content, he gave a nod, grabbing the short chain between the two wrist shackles and led Jaskier from the room. Jaskier gave a huff but followed, not wanting to get dragged. 

The chain link only allowed him to move his wrists out to the edge of his chest, no further than that, which didn’t give him many options for escape. 

Cahir didn’t give him any time to look at his surroundings as he was led upstairs and into the manor. Cahir just led him outside. Jaskier winced as he stepped out into the bright sunlight, tilting his head up to look at the clear blue sky, inhaling a deep breath of the fresh air – though it carried an edge of horse within it.

Still, it was better than the stagnant, damp air within the cellar. 

Jaskier was wrenched forward, making him stumble a step, and he scowled at the back of Cahir’s head as he was pulled along. He looked around, seeing the soldiers were beginning to mount their horses, or were finishing packing the carts with their supplies. He was led to the front, where a sleek black mare was waiting alongside other sleek, fine looking horses. 

Jaskier scowled when he saw his lute secured upon the horse Fringilla was sitting astride. She was talking to a group around her, also on horses, dressed in the same silver-blue colour that she was wearing.

Jaskier’s nose wrinkled in displeasure at that.

Great, the crazy mage has her own small army of other crazy mages. 

Cahir stopped next to Fringilla, who turned her attention to him. Cahir nodded to her before looking to Jaskier. 

“You’ll be riding with me so I can keep an eye on you,” Cahir told him. Jaskier snarled, reeling back but not able to get far due to the grip Cahir still had on the shackle chains. 

“Not a chance,” Jaskier snapped, digging his heels into dirt. “I’m not going anywhere with you crazy lunatics! Especially with you, you crazy fucker!”

Cahir’s gaze darkened and he yanked on the chain, forcing Jaskier closer. Jaskier leaned back as Cahir loomed over him. 

“Fringilla, do you have a gag for our mouthy friend here?” Cahir asked coolly, never taking his gaze off of Jaskier’s bruised face. 

“Here,” Fringilla said, passing over a strip of material. Cahir motioned to two soldiers with his free hand, who quickly came and grasped Jaskier’s arms, holding him still. Jaskier could barely move to struggle with the tight grips on his arms. 

Cahir quickly forced the fabric gag into his mouth, between his teeth, before knotting it tightly at the back of Jaskier’s head. Cahir turned to his horse, grabbing a length of coiled rope. He tied one end of the rope around the chain of Jaskier’s shackles, knotting it securely, before he tied to the other end to his saddle.

Cahir nodded to the soldiers, who released Jaskier and went back to their duties, before he grabbed the rope, pulling Jaskier closer so he could lean over the slightly shorter bard, making him shrink back slightly.

“Maybe a nice, brisk hike will curb that tongue of yours and make you a little more thankful,” Cahir growled lowly, yanking on the rope again. Jaskier swallowed deeply.

Even though Cahir was only just slightly taller than him, the way he held himself made him feel tall enough to tower over Jaskier, making him feel small and weak. 

Cahir stared at Jaskier for a moment longer before he stepped back and turned away. He quickly swung himself up and over his horse, mounting it swiftly, and settled down into the saddle. Jaskier barely kept from scoffing as Cahir placed on the most ridiculous helmet, with winged sides and ridiculous looking large feathers sticking out of the top, like some weird type of rooster.

And Geralt thought Jaskier’s outfits were garish, Jaskier couldn’t help but think, if only he could see this egomaniac. 

That thought made Jaskier’s stomach twist uncomfortably, as thinking of Geralt did to him recently, and he quickly pushed the Witcher from his thoughts. 

Cahir looked back, glancing down to Jaskier, before he looked to his men and gave a hand signal. 

Jaskier sighed around the gag as Cahir urged his horse forward, the rope going taut and forcing Jaskier to move forward as well. 

The sun slowly climbed overhead, the sun beating down upon Jaskier, not helping him as sweat steadily dripped down his head as he stumbled after Cahir’s horse, forced to follow along. 

Despite following Geralt for years on foot, as Geralt rode Roach, Jaskier was struggling. Unlike Geralt, who kept Roach’s pace steady so Jaskier didn’t fall behind, Cahir had no such qualms and kept his mare at a quick pace.

Sweat dripped down from Jaskier’s hair line, falling into his eyes and stinging them as he stumbled along, tripping over the unsteady dirt road and the odd branch and tree root.

He had twisted his hands to grasp at the rope, just so the shackles would stop digging into his wrists, cutting and chafing into the skin there, especially when he stumbled and the rope went taught as Cahir refused to slow down the horse’s pace. 

Jaskier panted out around the gag, struggling to take in deep breaths around the now wet fabric. 

Hours later, Cahir finally looked back as Jaskier stumbled, barely able to keep up right now. Cahir lifted a hand, calling for a halt with his men, the order being relayed down the line by shouts. 

Jaskier fell to his knees as soon as Cahir stopped, trembling with over-exertion. 

Cahir neatly leapt off of his horse and made his way to Jaskier’s side, crouching in front him. Jaskier kept his head down, not able to find the strength to look up. Cahir carefully grasped Jaskier’s chin, tilting his head up so Jaskier would meet his gaze.

“Will you ride with me now?” Cahir asked him, voice smooth. “Will you stop being so mouthy?”

Jaskier nodded weakly, as much as he could with his chin held in Cahir’s grasp. 

Cahir nodded, content with his answer, before cutting the rope around the shackles. Jaskier reached up to tug the spit sodden gag out of his mouth, panting heavily. Cahir pulled a water skin from his belt, offering it to Jaskier.

“Thank you,” Jaskier rasped as he took it, gaining another nod from Cahir, though this one was slightly more smug. Jaskier greedily drank, his hands shaking as he did so, though he was careful not to spill a drop. 

“Come,” ordered Cahir as he got to his feet, taking the water skin back from Jaskier’s hands before he finished drinking. Jaskier shakily pushed himself up onto his feet, his legs trembling under him, struggling to hold his weight. 

Cahir walked back over to his horse, standing beside it and looking back at Jaskier expectantly. Jaskier sighed before he struggled his way over, though he glanced at Fringilla, who was watching him with sharp eyes, waiting for him to make a move. 

Jaskier barely bit back a scoff at that. With the blisters on his feet, he wasn’t getting away on foot any time soon. 

Cahir cupped his hands together, giving Jaskier somewhere to place his foot so he could boost the lean bard up onto the saddle. Jaskier shifted on the back of the horse, though Cahir quickly swung up behind him, just to make certain Jaskier didn’t take off. Cahir’s arms wrapped around Jaskier’s sides, trapping him there, hands reaching out to grasp the reins.

Cahir set the mare off, moving at a steady jog. 

Jaskier reached out to carefully place his bound hands on the horse’s neck, fingers grasping onto the loose strands of hair, just trying anything to make sure he kept his balance and didn’t fall off. 

Cahir tutted behind him, a hand releasing the reins momentarily to press against Jaskier’s chest, forcing him to lean back against Cahir’s solid chest armour. Jaskier huffed but readjusted his hands to grip at the tiny bit of saddle left in front of him. 

Cahir shifted his hand again to take the reins. 

Jaskier turned his attention to the world around him, watching the trees go past, wondering what was beyond them…what towns lay there…and whether Geralt might be there, killing monsters, scaring the local populace and protecting Cirilla - if she was truly with him, that is.

Anything to forget the fact that he was a prisoner, being forced to lean against the Commander – who had ordered his kidnapping in the first place.

Jaskier’s gaze turned upwards towards the sky, watching as the clouds slowly tracked their way across the blue expanse. 

Once he would have thought of some sort of song, a stirring ballad, a humble bard caught by a fiendish band of murderous soldiers…but he couldn’t bring himself to do that now, couldn’t cast any words or tune to mind. 

How could he…when he didn’t know what the coming days would bring?

He was stuck playing captive to crazy Nilfgaard soldiers who were so certain that Geralt would come for him. Even though it set Jaskier’s stomach twisting and turning uncomfortably, he could admit to himself that Geralt wouldn’t come.

And he was not looking forward to when the Nilfgaard finally realised that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, thank you all so much for the comments! It really means a lot!


	5. Making Camp

Jaskier found himself, unwillingly, dozing off as the Nilfgaardian army trudged on. Jaskier was exhausted from that forced, fast paced hike, being towed along behind the very horse he was on now, by the very man he was very reluctantly leaning on and dozing off against. 

They passed by the occasional small farm, where the occupants stared at them with wide eyes. They were ignored and left alone, though some at the back of the procession went to go talk to them, to tell them of the White Flame and of Nilfgaard, to try and entice them to willingly join them when the time was right. 

Jaskier was unaware of this as he dozed, though Cahir knew it was happening though he need not worry about it, trusting those carefully selected men to do their duty. 

When they reached field large enough, Cahir called a halt to the army. After the non-stop, quick paced trek, the horses needed to rest. 

Jaskier blinked awake tiredly at Cahir’s call, looking around hazily as Cahir pulled his mare to a stop. He reached up to rub at his sore, tired eyes with his bound hands, wincing as Cahir yelled out orders to his men right in his ear. 

“Off the horse…but don’t go far,” Cahir muttered in his ear. Jaskier nodded tiredly, sighing. He winced as he carefully swung his aching leg around and carefully slipped off the horse’s side, Cahir’s hand fisted in the back of his doublet just to make sure he didn’t hit the ground too hard and injure himself. 

Jaskier’s legs still fell out from underneath him, weak from the walk and the long horse ride. He stayed kneeling on the grass, not bothering to get up, as he looked around.   
The sun was close to reaching the horizon, dying the sky a medley of pinks and oranges. 

Shouts and yells echoed across the field as the Nilfgaard soldiers swiftly set up their campsite, so used to doing it that they almost had it down to an art form. 

He looked up as Cahir finally leapt down from his horse, landing in the grass with a muted thump. Cahir stared down at Jaskier for a moment, looking thoughtful as he removed that god-awful helmet. 

“Come,” he ordered. Jaskier groaned as he slowly pushed himself to his feet, albeit shakily. He followed Cahir through the camp, limping along behind him as he warily looked at the soldiers leering back at him. 

Cahir was heading towards a clearing made within the sea of tents, where a large fire was being stoked. Cahir kept walking past it and Jaskier looked at it longingly, already feeling the chill of the evening beginning to creep in. 

Cahir pushed open the flap to one of the tents, the first one to have been set up, and impatiently gestured for Jaskier to enter. Jaskier glared at him but ducked inside anyway.   
He sighed as he realised it was a medical tent. 

“Jon,” Cahir called as he entered. There was a thump and a small yelp before a dark red head appeared from under a wooden table.

“Commander,” came the flustered reply as a younger man stood up, dusting off his black clothes. “Apologies, setting up is always a scramble.”

“Yet you do it every time without fail,” Cahir responded as he pushed Jaskier further into the tent and into a seat in front of the table that Jon had all of his equipment set up on.   
Jon gave a lopsided grin as he pushed an errant red curl away from his face. 

“What can I do for you, Commander?” 

“Check him over, make sure he’s healthy,” Cahir ordered, waving an absent hand in front of Jaskier, who scowled.

“I’m fine,” Jaskier snapped, eyeing Jon warily. “I don’t need anyone touching me.”

“Not up for debate,” Cahir just responded coolly, giving him a warning look. Jaskier scowled and sunk lower down into his seat.

He didn’t have the energy to fight back against this stubborn bastard. 

Jon blinked, looking to Cahir before looking back to Jaskier.

“Right,” Jon murmured, green eyes staring at Jaskier’s face for a moment, considering. “Stand up, please.”

Jaskier glowered but a look at Cahir’s facial expression stopped him from doing something stupid. He stood up and winced, which immediately caught Jon’s attention.

“What hurts?” he asked, concerned.

“Everything,” Jaskier grumbled, shooting a small glare at Cahir. “Guess that’s what happens when I get forced to walk behind a horse for hours.”

“Ah,” Jon hummed, indicating for Jaskier to sit back down. Jaskier slumped back down in the wooden seat, wincing as Jon grabbed the boot on his left foot and carefully eased it off. Jon gave a low whistle, looking up at Jaskier.

“You have some serious blisters here,” Jon told him. “But I guess that what happens when you wear these type of boots. Fancy looking, not really practical though.”

“I wasn’t planning on the fast hike,” Jaskier shot back as Jon stood, heading back to his table. Jaskier watched as he picked herbs out from jars, adding them to a stone mortar. He added in some liquid from other vials before he mixed it in with the pestle. 

“And I’ll have you know these boots are some of the best, lasted me for years. Good for following Witchers and for performing in royal courts.”

Jon cocked an eyebrow at that, glancing at Cahir before smirking. “I’ll take your word for it…but those blisters say otherwise.”

Jaskier glared at Cahir once more before looking back to Jon as he knelt in front Jaskier once again, grabbing one of Jaskier’s legs and resting it on his own. Jaskier hissed in pain as Jon rubbed the poultice on the ruptured blisters and the ones close to bursting. 

“Rest it for a moment,” Jon ordered him. “Don’t place your feet flat on the floor and get dirt within those open wounds. I’ll be very annoyed if you give yourself an infection.”

Jaskier nodded and Jon carefully placed Jaskier’s feet down on a clean rag, angling them so one could see the bottom of Jaskier’s feet, now covered in a green paste. 

Jon stood up, leaning over Jaskier, who watched him warily, and carefully took Jaskier’s face in hand, tilting it to the side so he could get a good look at the dark bruising mottling the cheekbone. Jon’s gaze was critical as he carefully felt the wound before nodding contently to himself.

“That bruise will fade,” Jon informed Cahir, “but all of his facial bones seemed to be intact, so nothing worrying about that.”

Cahir nodded, watching as Jon continued his examination of Jaskier, watching the uncomfortable expression on Jaskier’s face as Jon poked and prodded; Jaskier squirming uncomfortably as Jon felt around his ribs.

Content that there wasn’t anything seriously wrong, Jon turned his attention back to Jaskier’s feet, kneeling down on the floor once more. He examined Jaskier’s feet, gently touching the poultice to test that it had dried properly. Jon nodded once again, blowing a curl out of his face before he reached for the bandages. 

Jon wrapped his feet in bandages before casting a thoughtful look at Jaskier’s discarded boots. 

“Usually I’d say to not wear boots, but I don’t think that’ll be possible,” Jon sighed finally, grabbing Jaskier’s boots. “Just keep off your feet when you can, take your boots off before you sleep, and if it’s getting sweaty in there, take them off.”

Jaskier looked to Cahir at that, arching a brow. Cahir just stared back, matching the one arched eyebrow.

“If he doesn’t do that?” questioned Cahir. 

“Infection can set in and he can get really sick, lose a limb, maybe his life,” Jon explained as he stood back up. 

“How long will it take to heal?”

“A few days…if he isn’t stupid,” Jon added as he walked over to the basin on his desk to wash his hands. Cahir smirked at that.

“Well, we’ll have to watch carefully then, won’t we?” he said, gaining an affronted look from Jaskier. Jon nodded.

“Yes, Commander, I will check on him tomorrow morning,” Jon said, inclining his head. “I do suggest making sure he has food and hydration though, especially after the hike he did.”

Cahir nodded, knowing that Jon was just being the careful healer he was. Cahir turned his gaze back to Jaskier, who was looking in between the two of them, bewildered.

“Shoes on, Bard, or you will be walking barefoot,” Cahir told him coolly. Jaskier scowled, giving a huff, but reached down to grab his boots, quickly but carefully pulling them on over his bandaged feet. 

He got to his feet, wincing slightly, though the pain wasn’t as bad, and glanced at Jon. Jon gave him a lopsided grin, green eyes sparkling, before Jaskier turned his head away, looking back to Cahir. Cahir tilted his head and Jaskier followed him from the tent. 

Jon seemed like a decent person, a good healer, Jaskier couldn’t help but think, maybe if he had met him in an inn somewhere, he would have gotten along quite well with him.   
But he was a crazy Nilfgaard, so Jaskier was going to stay as far away from him as he could. 

Cahir was walking back towards the fire, where the soldiers were gathered around now, eating and laughing. Cahir turned to Jaskier suddenly, grabbing the chain between his shackles and dragging him closer towards the fire. 

He pushed Jaskier down on the grassy ground next to it. Jaskier sat back up, turning up to glare at Cahir.

“Well, that was rude,” Jaskier told him. “You could have just asked.”

Cahir just arched an unimpressed eyebrow once again. “Stay,” he ordered. 

Jaskier grumbled after him as Cahir turned on heel and stalked off, but merely drew his legs up, hugging them close and sighing. The heat coming off of the fire was delightful, so warm and comforting, despite this shitty situation. 

Jaskier ignored the pointed mutterings and grins from the Nilfgaard soldiers surrounding him as they sat on logs around the fire, just focusing on the heat.

He looked up as he felt a presence beside him, seeing it was Cahir and the crazy mage. They settled down to sit on the log behind him and Jaskier huffed, turning back to stare at the roaring flame. 

There was something so beautiful, some simplistic, in watching the flames dance. The colours merging and blending, yet all so distinct. 

“Commander,” a soldier said somewhere behind Jaskier. 

“Give one to the bard, can’t have him starve,” Cahir’s voice answered. Jaskier looked up at that, seeing a soldier holding a bowl out to him. Jaskier carefully took the bowl and the piece of bread, cradling it close so no one took it away from him. Cahir just looked amused as Jaskier did that. 

Jaskier sighed as he looked at his bound hands, frowning in annoyance as he looked in between the bowl and the piece of bread.

“Screw it,” Jaskier muttered, lifting the bowl to his lips to drink it. Screw decorum and manners around his kidnappers. 

Jaskier quickly devoured the soup and the bread, placing the bowl aside and cautiously grabbing the mug of water that had been left beside him. 

He could the hard gaze of Cahir boring into the back of his head, which made the hairs at the back of his neck prickle uncomfortably, but he was determined not to look around, instead refocusing his gaze on the fire in front of him. 

The day began to catch up to him and he found his eyes drifting shut, exhausted from the day that had been and lulled into a dozed state by the warmth of the fire. 

He was rudely awoken from his doze as he was pushed sideways onto the ground.

“Geralt,” Jaskier whined, still half asleep, trying to curl up tighter on the grassy ground. “Not yet.” 

There was a snort of laughter which had Jaskier’s eyes snapping open. Geralt never laughed like that. He had low, deep chuckles when the rare occasion did come when he actually laughed. Geralt did not snort with laughter.

Jaskier turned over to see Cahir standing over him, smirking. Jaskier groaned, reaching up to rub at his tired, sore eyes. 

“Oh, it’s you,” grumbled Jaskier, his stomach sinking. 

For a moment he had thought he was back in the forest somewhere, camping after a day of travelling with Geralt, curled up next to the warm fire, feeling safe knowing that Geralt was there with him. 

But no, here he was, a captive of the crazy Nilfgaard. 

“Up,” ordered Cahir. Jaskier grumbled under his breath but slowly pushed himself up to stand. Cahir grabbed his upper arm tightly and towed him away from the warmth of the fire. Jaskier stumbled along after him, shivering as the cool night air permeated his filthy silk clothes. 

Cahir dragged him over to a recently constructed, yet sturdy, pen area where Cahir’s horse was penned for the evening, along with Fringilla’s and a couple more. 

The soldiers’ horses were tied in front of their tents or on nearby trees, but the horses of those higher up in the food chain were penned in a special area that was carefully constructed. 

“Is it ready?” Cahir barked as they approached, which was when Jaskier spotted three soldiers within the pen.

“Yes, Commander, just finishing it up now,” one of them replied as Cahir dragged Jaskier into the pen. There was a thick wooden pole driven deep into the ground in the centre of the pen, a metal ring embedded securely within it. 

Jaskier struggled against Cahir’s grip, but couldn’t pull himself loose. Cahir held him tight as one of the soldiers quickly bent down. Jaskier kicked out, collecting the soldier across the face and sending him flying to the ground. 

“Let go!” Jaskier snarled, fighting against Cahir. Cahir just swiftly backhanded him across the face, dazing the bard. It was enough for another soldier to quickly affix a pair of looser shackles around his ankles. 

He wouldn’t be able to slip the rings off around his boots, and there was enough chain in between the two shackles that he would be able to walk short steps – though he was effectively hobbled. 

Another chain was attached to his leg shackles, connecting it to the wooden post. 

Cahir released Jaskier’s arm then and Jaskier looked down, testing his new bonds. Jaskier sighed as he found they were solid and had no give. 

Not even the wooden pole shifted. 

“Sleep well, bard,” Cahir said, gaining a scowl from Jaskier. “Keep off your feet when you can and try not to do anything stupid.”

Jaskier’s scowl deepened and Cahir smirked, before nodding to his men. 

“Make sure the watch keeps an eye on him,” he told them. The three soldiers nodded before they followed him from the pen.

Jaskier let out a breath as he was left alone…well, him and the horses. Jaskier sighed as he turned to look at the pole he was attached to, grimacing when he realised how firmly fixed into the ground it was. 

No chance of getting away tonight then. 

Jaskier looked around the pen, his gaze resting on Cahir’s mare, who was grazing upon the green grass. 

He sighed once again before he slowly walked over to the mare.

“Hello there, beauty,” Jaskier murmured to the horse, gently reaching out. The mare lifted her head, snorting at him, making Jaskier smile. He gently cupped her nose, stroking along the top of it.

“You are a good horse, aren’t you?” he murmured to her. “Except you’re forced to carry that pompous bastard across the continent, aren’t you?”

The horse nickered and nudged at Jaskier’s chest with her head. Jaskier laughed softly and stroked her nose again.

“You remind me of a horse I know, called Roach,” Jaskier told her. “Took her a while to warm up to me, mind you, she used to try bite my fingers all the time…but, without Geralt knowing of course, I used to sneak her apples and sugar cubes. She began to like me after that, though she was still very much like Geralt.”

Jaskier gave a soft laugh at that, resting his head against the mares. 

“Roach is the best horse, no offence to you – but you do carry a complete psychopath – but Roach, she is one magnificent horse. The way she just stays there, cool as anything, while Geralt fights off whatever monster he has. She keeps me company too when he’s off and I’ve been told to stay away from the fight. She’s always good to talk to, more responsive than Geralt most of the time too,” chuckles Jaskier. 

Jaskier sighed once again, closing his eyes as he kept his forehead pressed against the mare’s long nose. 

“I miss Roach…I miss Geralt,” Jaskier whispered. “I just want to be back with them, like everything used to be.” 

“Oi! What are you doing?!” 

Jaskier lifted his head at the shout, seeing two soldiers storming towards him. Jaskier took a step back from the mare as the soldiers marched into the pen. They shoved him back from Cahir’s mare, making him stumble backwards.

“What did you think you were doing?!” one of them snarled, grabbing Jaskier by the front of his dirty doublet and yanking him forwards. 

“Go get the Commander,” the soldier holding Jaskier snarled. “We need to teach this pompous shit a lesson!”

“I wasn’t doing anything!” Jaskier insisted, struggling against the hold on his doublet. “I was just talking to her!”

The soldier holding him scoffed. “Sure you were,” he snarled, dark eyes glinting with evil intent. “The Commander will decide what to do with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken a little while but life is busy as anything...
> 
> Hope you're liking where this is going.   
> Geralt is still a couple of chapters away.


	6. The First Night

Jaskier struggled against the grip on his doublet, reaching up with bound hands to try to claw the soldier’s hands off of him. He dug his nails into the skin just above the soldier’s gloves, where his sleeve had just ridden up, gaining a snarl of pain from the soldier. 

The dark eyed soldier released one hand from Jaskier’s doublet, before he quickly backhanded Jaskier across the face, dazing the bard. A fist quickly buried itself into Jaskier’s stomach, stealing his breath and causing him to double over in the soldier’s grip. 

“Cheeky bitch,” the soldier snarled, before ramming his knee into Jaskier’s stomach. Jaskier fell to his knees on the ground, coughing and retching as he tried to gain his breath back. He yelped as he was kicked across the face, sending him sprawling across the grass. 

Jaskier just laid there on his side, blood trickling from his nose as he breathed raggedly, still feeling short of breath as his stomach radiated pain from where he was both punched and kneed within a very short period of time. 

“What’s going on here?” Cahir’s demanding voice echoed across the pen. Jaskier groaned, curling up tighter to protect his sore stomach, as he heard him approach. 

“Found him touching your horse, Commander, think he was trying to escape,” the solider who had just pummelled Jaskier stated. 

“He’s hobbled, soldier,” Cahir just stated, voice cool. “What made you think he could actually get onto my horse?”

Jaskier slowly opened his eyes as he heard the soldier stammering. Cahir was standing there, looking unimpressed as the soldier continued to stammer excuses. Cahir looked down, seeing Jaskier was staring up at him, eyes wide.

He crouched down beside Jaskier, the soldier going quiet, and grasped Jaskier’s chin, tilting the bard’s head up so he could meet his gaze. Cahir tsked when he saw the blood trickling from Jaskier’s nose, the fresh red mark blossoming across Jaskier’s cheek.

“Well?” Cahir asked. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Wasn’t doing anything,” Jaskier croaked, wincing at the pain in his stomach. “Just talking. S’good horse, not as good as Roach, they don’t judge.”

Cahir raised an eyebrow at Jaskier’s discordant rambling, not really understanding most of what he was saying but getting enough.

“You just wanted to talk to her,” he stated, sounding mystified. Jaskier nodded, curling up tighter to protect his aching stomach. 

Cahir stared at the bard for a moment longer, letting that sink in. He knew the bard was a little odd – after all, he did travel with a Witcher – but this wasn’t something he was expecting. 

He truly was a curious bard.

Cahir turned his attention to the soldiers standing near him. 

“Get Jon,” he ordered before looking back to the curled up figure in front of him. He had to make sure that the oaf hadn’t harmed the bard too badly. Cahir still had a plan for Jaskier and couldn’t lose him just yet. 

One of the soldiers soon returned with Jon close behind.

“Already?” Jon asked in surprise as he knelt beside Cahir. “I wasn’t expecting him to get into trouble until tomorrow at least.”

Cahir smirked at that as Jaskier scowled up at Jon. 

Jon just grinned broadly before he coaxed Jaskier to sit up, taking note of every wince. 

Jaskier winced as Jon carefully took his face in his hands, tilting it this way and that before prodding at his cheek and at his nose.

“Nothing broken in his face,” Jon announced, green eyes still fixed firmly on Jaskier’s injuries. Jon continued to poke and prod, pausing when he reached Jaskier’s stomach. Jaskier immediately curled up when Jon touched his sore stomach, curling his arms over his mid-section to protect himself.

“You need to let me see,” Jon said softly, sweeping his red curls out of his eyes. “I need to make sure there are no internal injuries.”

Jaskier looked up, seeing Jon’s calm, caring green eyes staring at him before looking to Cahir, who was looking stern. 

Jaskier sighed, knowing it was best to just get this over with, and slowly moved his arms. 

“Thank you,” Jon murmured as he moved closer. He carefully undid the doublet before lifting the pale grey chemise up to reveal Jaskier’s stomach. Jon clicked his tongue as he gently felt around Jaskier’s bruising stomach.

“No internal bleeding, but there will be bruising,” Jon informed them as he fixed Jaskier’s clothes for him. “You’re going to be sore for a few days but you’ll be fine.”

Jaskier nodded silently, wrapping his arms around his mid-section again, guarding his stomach. 

Jon dug through the pack he had brought with him, pulling out a blanket. Cahir arched an eyebrow as Jon looked at him, giving a slight grin.

“It’s going to be cold tonight, Commander,” Jon explained. “Didn’t want to be called to a bard shaped icicle in the morning.”

Cahir smirked again at that, giving a nod. Jon turned to Jaskier, wrapping the blanket around the silent bard’s shoulders and pulling it closed. 

“Keep out of trouble,” Jon told him with a wink, gaining rolled eyes from Jaskier, before he got to his feet and headed back to the medical tent. Jaskier looked up at Cahir, who had stood up to order to soldiers back to their rounds. 

Jaskier shifted back to lean against the pole he was chained to, sighing tiredly as he pulled the blanket tighter around himself, shivering slightly. 

He watched as the soldiers walked out, chastised, to continue their rounds before Cahir turned his attention back to him. Cahir walked back over, crouching in front of the bard. Jaskier clutched onto the rough woollen blanket tighter, not wanting Cahir to take it away. 

“I’m curious,” Cahir stated.

“Oh?” asked Jaskier warily, leaning back against his pole. 

“I’m curious as to why you wanted to speak to a horse,” Cahir asked, amused. “You do know that they don’t talk back.”

Jaskier threw him a scathing look, huddling further under his blanket. “They do, just not with words,” mumbled Jaskier.

“Is that so?” Cahir asked, intrigued by what the bard was talking about. Jaskier sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. 

“A horse I know is the most stubborn, cranky horse I know,” Jaskier murmured. “She never liked anyone but her rider to touch her. I almost lost fingers many times to her snaps and bites if I got too close…but she was a good horse, a loyal friend. Once I travelled with her a while and bribed her with apples and sugar cubes, she warmed up to me. There were times when it was just me and her, having to wait and worry, but she was there to listen to me talk and ramble…and despite the odd look I got from her, she listened when I was worried.”

Cahir blinked, surprised that Jaskier was speaking so much, just spilling out this story with no hesitation. 

Jaskier curled up tighter, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

“I miss her.”

Jaskier remembered when he had come down that mountain, after that fateful day when Geralt had truly let his emotions be known. Jaskier’s heart had been breaking and yet he had felt quite empty and bereft, but there was Roach, still tied where Geralt had left her. She had nickered when she had seen him, head nodding up and down happily. 

The dam had broken then, tears streaming down his face as he stumbled to her, wrapping his arms around her neck and burying his face into her soft mane. She had huffed softly in his ear, gently nudging her head against his as Jaskier had sobbed into her mane. 

She had stood there, just letting him cry out his heartbreak against her, never trying to shift or bite him like she would have once. 

Jaskier had finally pulled away, rubbing his watery eyes.

“This is where we part, my dear Roach,” he had said hoarsely, stroking her long nose. “I will miss you dearly.”

Roach had gently thumped her nose against his chest, making him give a watery laugh.

“Look after the giant oaf for me, make sure he stays out of trouble,” Jaskier murmured to her, stroking the white stripe down her nose. “You stay safe too, dear Roach.”

Jaskier blinked, looking up at Cahir, who was still watching him closely. Jaskier just turned his head away, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. 

Cahir just hummed thoughtfully. He had an idea of whose horse Jaskier was talking about and he was surprised. The Witcher was known to be solitary, yet it was also known that one never touched his belongings, especially his horse. 

For the Witcher to allow the bard to become close enough to befriend his horse…well, it was truly surprising. 

There was something about this bard, something truly curious. 

Why did the Witcher allow him to accompany him for so long? How did the Witcher, known for being solitary and emotionless, come to trust this bard enough to treat his wounds?  
Many lesser men wouldn’t have survived a week with a Witcher, yet this non-assuming bard had lasted _years_. 

He wanted to know why. He wanted to know why the Witcher had accepted him, what the Witcher saw in Jaskier. 

“Get some sleep,” Cahir just said instead. “Don’t get up and walk around and agitate your feet injuries.”

Jaskier scowled at him, making Cahir smirk as he pushed himself up to his feet. Jaskier opened his eyes to watch Cahir walk away, relaxing as the creepy Commander finally went away. 

He grimaced as he lay down on his side, curling up tightly and pulling the scratchy blanket up around his neck. He sighed and winced, wrapping one of his arms tightly around his stomach, hoping that would stop the ache. 

Jaskier shifted on the hard ground, all too aware of the shackles around his ankles which limited his movements. 

He was used to sleeping on the hard ground – he had to be if he wanted to travel with Geralt, so this wasn’t anything new.

However, the wariness was new. 

Whenever he was camped out with Geralt, even if they were hunting the next monster or even if bandits were near, Jaskier always knew he was safe because Geralt would be there.  
But here he was alone with enemy soldiers surrounding him – and Jaskier knew that a fair few of them would gladly hurt him – and he had no one to help watch his back.   
Jaskier pulled the blanket tighter around him, sighing once again. 

He could hear the Nilfgaard soldiers all laughing and talking loudly from where they were gathered around the fire – which made Jaskier shiver miserably, wishing he could be close to its warmth – and it was making Jaskier tense, knowing that he wasn’t safe.

Jaskier closed his eyes, trying to relax. He needed to sleep, to regain his energy and focus so when the morning came, he could try to find a way to get away.

Eventually he did managed to drift off into a somewhat uneasy sleep, especially once the soldiers finally went to sleep. He dreamed of better times, when he felt safe. He dreamed of the nights spent either camping in the woods or in an inn with Geralt.

Usually for safety, for warmth and for when they could only afford a single room with a single bed when the coin was sparse, Jaskier and Geralt slept side by side on the forest floor or limbs entangled as they tried to fit in a small bed within an inn. 

The tension eased from Jaskier’s sleeping body as he dreamt of that, of being curled up with Geralt – who surprisingly didn’t mind sharing space at night – and feeling safe within his dreams. 

The next morning, Jaskier was slowly pulled from his pleasant dreams. He tried to cling onto that feeling of safety for as long as he could, remembering those many mornings waking up, curled up around Geralt, who ended up being little spoon to Jaskier more often than not since Jaskier slept like an octopus, trying to grasp on and never let go.

This morning he was remembering waking up being held close in Geralt’s arms. Geralt got a bit more clingy and protective after a hunt and would hold onto Jaskier, just needing to know that he was safe – as much he denied it. 

A foot nudged Jaskier’s leg, dragging him from his pleasant dreams. 

Jaskier opened his eyes, squinting up at the brightening sky above him and at the figure leaning over him.

“Morning,” came the chipper voice, making Jaskier groan and attempt to pull the blanket over his head. 

Why did the crazy Nilfgaard healer have to be so damn happy and chipper? It made it hard to really hate him. 

“Come on, Bard, wakey wakey,” Jon laughed, pulling the blanket off of his head. “You need to get up before the commander comes for you! He'll be annoyed if he comes and finds you're still asleep and that I haven't done my check-up!”

Jaskier sat up at that, rubbing at his eyes and blinking up tiredly at Jon. Jon just smiled easily as he sat in front of Jaskier. Jaskier looked around, seeing the soldiers were up for the day, getting ready and dismantling their tents. 

“Let me check your feet,” Jon said, patting his leg. Jaskier shifted his bound legs, allowing Jon to take them and place them in his lap. Jon pulled out a key to unlock the shackles around Jaskier’s ankles. 

Jon pulled Jaskier’s boots off and unwrapped the bandages around Jaskier’s feet as Jaskier looked around, watching the soldiers get ready.

Jon nodded, content at the sight of the healing blisters. 

“Your feet are healing just fine,” Jon told Jaskier. “I’m going to reapply the salve and re-wrap your feet, but they should be fine if you don’t force the commander to make you do another hike.”

Jaskier scowled at that, leaning against the pole behind him. 

He wouldn’t have to if Cahir wasn’t such a dick, Jaskier thought, but wisely kept to himself. 

Jaskier watched as Jon carefully reapplied the salve and wrapped his feet in fresh bandages. Jon pulled his boots back on and looked back up to Jaskier. 

“I need to check your stomach, Bard, just to make sure the injury hasn’t worsened overnight,” Jon informed him.

“It’s Jaskier,” Jaskier muttered as he undid the buttons of his doublet. 

“Hmm?”

“My name,” Jaskier responded, looking to Jon. “It’s Jaskier.”

“Jaskier then,” Jon agreed with a smile. “I’m just going to check your stomach now and then I’ll see about getting you some food.”

Jaskier nodded, sighing, as he lifted his chemise enough for Jon to check the bruising on his stomach.

“Good, good,” Jon murmured as he checked over the injury, fingers skimming across the deeply bruised skin. “Just a deep bruise, but that’ll fade within a few days along with the ache.”

Jaskier nodded and fixed his clothing, dirty as they may be. 

“I’ll report to the commander and see if I can get you some food,” Jon told him as he re-shackled his ankles, much to Jaskier’s dismay.

Jaskier watched as Jon got to his feet, gathering his bag, before he headed off to go seek out Cahir. Jaskier just shifted against the pole, trying to get more comfortable, as he watched the hubbub around him.

Jaskier knew he would have to watch carefully today and watch for any chance for escape. He knew the chances would be slim but he was hopeful that a chance would present itself, no matter how small. 

He had to get away from this. He had to get away from the creepy Cahir, whose interest in him was really starting to unnerve Jaskier.

Jaskier sighed, resolving himself. 

Usually Geralt would be there to help him, to protect him and save him from vengeful cuckolds and scary monsters…but this time, Jaskier knew, he would have to save himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter!  
> It's been a crazy couple of weeks, but I love reading your comments, so thank you!


	7. Bathing

Cahir strolled into the pen, barely glancing at the soldiers saddling up the horses within in. Instead he walked straight over to Jaskier, who was sitting on the ground, leaning against the pole and watching the soldiers with sharp, wary eyes. 

Jaskier’s gaze turned to Cahir as he approached. 

Cahir was already in his armour, ready to go, which made Jaskier bite back a sigh.

“I take it we’re leaving then?” Jaskier said airily, gaining a small chuckle from Cahir. Jaskier wasn’t too worried about sassing him just yet. He had been given some food and some water for breakfast, so he didn’t have to worry about Cahir withholding that. 

“Yes,” Cahir answered simply before looking to the soldiers and gesturing for two to come over. “Are you going to behave while they undo your chains?” 

Jaskier gave a slight scowl before nodding and slowly getting to his feet. His stomach was still smarting from the beating he received last night. He wasn’t going to tempt fate and gain another beating from more thugs. 

Cahir nodded, pleased with Jaskier’s compliance, watching as Jaskier stood completely still, back rigid and tense as the soldiers bent down to quickly undo the shackles around Jaskier’s ankles, sitting upon the dark leather boots. 

The soldiers removed the shackles and stood up, backing away from Jaskier. Jaskier just looked to Cahir, resigned, waiting for Cahir to order him about. 

“Come,” ordered Cahir, with Jaskier barely restraining his eye roll. 

Short, barked orders seemed to be Cahir’s speciality. No originality whatsoever since the orders all seemed to be the same.

Come, stay, don’t be stupid. 

It was a bit repetitive. 

Jaskier followed Cahir anyway, wincing as his bruised stomach muscles pulled and ached with every step. He hugged his arms to his stomach, hoping that would soothe the ache, as he followed Cahir from the pen, keeping close to the creepy Commander as he warily kept an eye on the soldiers that leered or glared at him as he went by. 

He followed Cahir, doing his best to keep silent as Cahir did his final rounds, making sure everything was on schedule. They had paused by a group of soldiers next to the supply cart, with Cahir looking over everything, when Jaskier looked around, both from boredom and trying to spot an escape route.

He sighed when he saw an unwanted familiar figure walking towards them. 

“Your crazy mage is approaching,” Jaskier said, mouth moving before his brain fully comprehended what he said. He received snarls from the soldiers, one of them even resting his hand against the hilt of his sword.

“Show respect!” one of them snarled. Jaskier swallowed and looked to Cahir, whose sunken blue eyes were just amused. Cahir waved away the soldiers’ anger.

“He has no filter when it comes to mages,” Cahir informed them, smirk widening. “Bad experiences with them. Fringilla finds it rather amusing.” 

Jaskier relaxed slightly, heart rate slowing, knowing he probably wasn’t going to be punished for that slip. 

Fringilla paused beside them with Jaskier shuffling away from her slightly. There was something about her that unnerved him – even more than Yennefer. Yennefer looked out for herself, on the search for something…but this Fringilla was worse than Yennefer. Fringilla just seemed brainwashed and so entrenched in wanting Nilfgaard’s victory…it was rather disturbing. 

Jaskier had seen some things as he travelled with Geralt. He had seen all sorts of blood thirsty monsters and evil humans, but there always something particularly disturbing, something that made a shiver run down his spine, when they had to deal with humans who had done truly disturbing things, believing it was for the _‘best’_. 

“Everything is almost ready,” Fringilla informed Cahir. “I’ve received word that more reinforcements will meet us at our next planned camp site.” 

Cahir nodded, folding his arms across his chest. 

Jaskier looked between the two of them, intrigued by this. He had heard the rumors that Nilfgaard had tried to take Sodden Hill but had been soundly defeated and driven back to lick their wounds…and rebuild their army. 

Jaskier hadn’t given it much thought of why Nilfgaard was further away from Sodden than he last heard. It would make sense that they were slowly making their way back, to try go around or rebuild their army so they could attempt to take Sodden again. 

He looked to Cahir as Cahir spoke quietly to Fringilla, frowning slightly. 

Cahir and Nilfgaard were so desperate to find Geralt, to get Ciri, that they sent scouts far into enemy territory to kidnap Jaskier…and now they were amassing their army again.   
Jaskier’s stomach twisted horribly at that thought. If Nilfgaard’s numbers continued to grow, if more kingdoms and territories fell to them, then there was no way Geralt could fight all of them. 

The Nilfgaard, the crazy mage and the creepy commander would get their hands on poor Ciri. 

Jaskier shuddered at that thought, gaining Cahir’s attention. Cahir gave Jaskier a contemplative look, while Jaskier just stared back, looking uncertain. 

“We need to get moving,” Cahir said to Fringilla. “We need to reach the next point by nightfall.”

Fringilla inclined her head before she turned and swept off, silver blue robes flicking out behind her. 

And Geralt called him dramatic, Jaskier thought ruefully, before looking back to Cahir, startling when he found the commander was already staring intently at him. 

“Come on,” he ordered Jaskier, gaining another sigh from the bard. Jaskier followed him anyway, knowing it was just better to go along with it. 

Cahir walked up to the soldier preparing his mare, taking his helmet from where it sat perched on the saddle. 

Geralt may have been right when he said that Jaskier had no filter, Jaskier thought desperately as he bit down on his tongue. It was torture to bite his tongue and hold back his true opinions on that god-awful helmet. 

Cahir turned to face him once he had put on the god awful helmet, regarding Jaskier with cool blue eyes.

“Are you going to fight with me this time?” Cahir questioned him. “Or will you behave and get on the horse?”

Jaskier glared at Cahir for a moment before adjusting his weight awkwardly between his legs. A twinge of pain in his feet and his stomach quickly made him swallow any comebacks or protestations.

“I’ll behave,” he muttered bitterly. Cahir gave a nod at that, a smug smirk twisting his lips, making Jaskier bite his tongue harder, wanting so desperately to just give that smug bastard a piece of his mind.

But instead he remains silent – something that would have certainly worried Geralt – and moves forward as Cahir cups his hands, giving Jaskier a boost onto the horse. Cahir quickly swung up to sit behind Jaskier, which Jaskier did his best to ignore, instead focusing on shifting and trying to find the most comfortable way to sit. 

He ignored Cahir’s shouted orders and as Cahir urged his horse to move forwards. 

Jaskier did his best to ignore the figure sitting right behind him, ignoring that discomforting body heat, as the hours passed. Instead he tried to find ways to occupy his mind since he couldn’t use his lute and didn’t feel like giving these bastards the blessing of hearing his voice. 

He examined the shackles around his wrists, only by sight, not wanting the crazy mage or one of soldiers to see him playing with the shackles, thinking he was trying to escape or something as ridiculous. 

Jaskier just tilted and flexed his wrists, frowning in discontent when he saw the skin underneath was rubbed red, scabbing a little at the edges where the shackles had dug in during Jaskier’s enforced fast hike. 

He gave a huff, fingers twitching irritably, just having the urge to fidget, to do _something_. 

Jaskier’s gaze turned to the long black mane of the horse and he gave a curious hum. He reached out carefully, making sure he didn’t move too much as not to arouse suspicion, and carefully took a couple locks of the mane. He carefully braided it before he moved onto the rest of the mane, trying to keep his fingers and mind occupied. 

By the time they had reached their next stop, which was a decent sized clearing in a forest, Jaskier had braided the rest of the horse’s mane and had redone it twice, twisting it and adjusting it into different styles. 

He was certain that Cahir knew what he had been doing, having heard small chuckles from behind him every now and again, but he had ignored it, focusing instead on his task.   
Cahir tugged on the reins, pulling his mare to a stop, and Jaskier looked around, taking in the tall trees in the mostly dense forest.

“You’re all going to fit in here?” he asked in disbelief. There was a fairly decent sized clearing, but there was no way all the soldiers tents would fit. 

“Yes,” Cahir said simply, giving a low chuckle. “Nilfgaard are hardy. Tents will be set up further out, in between trees.”

“Right,” Jaskier muttered, still thinking this was crazy. Camping in between trees were always risky. You never knew if you were camped under a heavy branch that was just ready to finally break and fall down, killing whoever was unlucky enough to be underneath it. 

Well, if Nilfgaard was stupid enough to risk it, no need for Jaskier to point it out. 

Jaskier was finally given the order to get off the horse, which he gladly did, wincing as he stretched out his aching muscles. 

Cahir jumped down to land neatly beside him, barking orders as he did so, removing the ridiculous helmet. Jaskier reached up with his bound hands to push his fringe back from his face, grimacing at the greasiness of his hair. 

Even when he was travelling with Geralt, he never let it get this bad. Even Geralt cleaned up properly every couple of days – that was when he didn’t get covered in some blood or guts of some horrifying monster – just needing to be some semblance of clean. 

When they were in an inn with a bath, sometimes it was hard to get Geralt out of the warm water for hours. 

Jaskier shook that thought away, that emptiness twisting his stomach again at the thought of his friend. 

He looked at his clothes, grimacing at the state of them, filthy and covered in dirt, grass stains and some blood. Jaskier found himself wishing for his scents as he caught whiff of himself. Even if he couldn’t bathe when travelling, he at least had his scents to help cover any smell to keep him smelling pleasant until the next time he could bathe.   
Jaskier looked to Cahir, finding that he had been watching Jaskier look over his dirty clothes, looking amused. 

“What?” Jaskier snapped, hugging himself the best he could. “I hate being filthy.”

Cahir was silent for a moment, contemplative, before he tilted his head, gesturing for Jaskier to follow him. Jaskier sighed but did so, keeping as close as he could bear to the Nilfgaard Commander as the other soldiers leered at him. 

He followed Cahir to a soldier standing in front of the supply cart, barely paying attention as Cahir spoke to the solider, looking around at his surroundings warily instead. 

Jaskier looked back to Cahir as the soldier handed Cahir a bundle, which he had dug out from the supply cart. Cahir nodded and set off again with Jaskier quick to follow. 

Jaskier paused, surprised, as Cahir was handed a familiar bag by a solider.

“My bag?” Jaskier asked quietly, surprised. Cahir looked back to him as he shouldered the bag, the one filled with the scents and different potions that Jaskier had collected over his travels. 

“You _are_ starting to smell,” Cahir told him, smirking. “There’s a river nearby you can clean yourself in.”

Jaskier blinked, dumbfounded, before he quickly followed Cahir as Cahir turned to stride off, heading off into the forest. He didn’t want to be left behind with the mages and the soldiers…and as much as he hated Cahir, he seemed to be the safer bet at the moment. 

After a while, the yells and chatter of the Nilfgaard camp faded away as they headed further out into the trees. Jaskier perked up at the sound of running water, grinning as a river came into view. 

Cahir placed down the bundle he had been given on a nearby rock by the bank, before looking to Jaskier and handing him his bag. Jaskier held it awkwardly before he looked down at his clothes and then to his shackled hands.

“How do you expect me to bathe with these?” he asked, holding up his hands. Cahir stared at him for a moment before grabbing the key from somewhere in his armour. 

“I suppose I can trust you not to run off,” Cahir said, amused. “I doubt you’d survive very long out here naked and cold.” 

Jaskier gave a huff but conceded to that point, holding up his wrists so Cahir could unlock them. Jaskier shook out his wrists once the shackles fell away into Cahir’s grasp. 

“Go on then,” Cahir told him as he settled down to sit on a rock, pulling out a dagger to play with warningly. “You don’t have long.”

Jaskier blinked, staring at Cahir in disbelief. “Y-You’re not going to watch.”

“Someone needs to make sure you don’t do anything foolish,” Cahir stated coolly, “but if you’d prefer, I can get some of the soldiers to stand guard.”

“No…i-it’s fine…fine,” Jaskier muttered as he turned away, ignoring Cahir’s low chuckle. Jaskier did his best to ignore Cahir as he walked over to the edge of the river, looking at his bag and at the bundle that Cahir had placed down. He found a towel and a new set of clothes to wear and grimaced when he saw it was all black and drab. A pair of black pants and a loose black shirt. 

“I do have a bag of my own clothes,” Jaskier said grumpily, looking back to Cahir, who was still playing with the dagger. 

“They may be useful later,” Cahir just said in reply. “So you will wear those.” 

Jaskier sighed, grumbling under his breath as he knelt down beside his own bag, pulling out the things he’d need. 

Doing his best to imagine that Cahir wasn’t there, Jaskier stripped out of the clothes he was wearing, placing them aside, shivering at the cool breeze and at the feeling of eyes on him. He took care in unwrapping the bandages around his feet, tucking them away in the bag.

Jaskier usually wasn’t body-shy – having shared baths and space with Geralt and with a number of lovely men and women - but having his captor sitting there and watching him was a new matter entirely.

Still, Jaskier wasn’t one to waste an opportunity and who knew when Cahir would next feel accommodating enough to allow Jaskier to bathe…even if it was in a frigid river. 

He bathed quickly and efficiently, not knowing when Cahir would get bored and wanting to get dressed and back into the safety of clothing, away from Cahir’s prying eyes as soon as he could. 

“You have more scars than I thought you would,” Cahir spoke up as Jaskier scrubbed at his skin using one of his favourite scents, a nice lavender one. “I didn’t think being a bard was such a dangerous occupation.” 

Jaskier snorted at that, picking up the next lotion to help keep his skin soft and to prevent it drying out. 

“You’d be surprised,” Jaskier answered back, still keeping his back to Cahir. “A lot of things get thrown if you sing the wrong thing in the wrong inn. Not to mention jilted and jealous lovers and all.”

“Any from your travels with the Witcher?” Cahir questioned next curiously.

“A couple,” Jaskier answered absently, thinking of the ones he did receive when he was travelling with Geralt. There were the four long ones across his right hip from a wolf, a small one on his left shoulder where a bandit managed to hit him with an arrow during an ambush, and the one down the side of his left thigh from when Geralt had pushed him, causing him to fall down an embankment of pointy rocks, to save him from a griffin. 

Jaskier sat down in the cool water so he could wash out his hair, scrubbing out the dirt and grime furiously as he tried to forget the scars and the stories behind them. 

Geralt had always panicked when Jaskier had gotten hurt, though he had hidden it in anger and annoyance, but Jaskier had always seen the concern in the golden eyes and in the gentle way that Geralt tended to his wounds. 

Jaskier dunked his head under the water, washing those thoughts away. He slowly stood up, hair dripping into his eyes, and walked back to the bank of the river, grabbing the towel left there and drying off quickly. He pulled on his small clothes and the pair of pants that Cahir had left him, before he turned back to his vials of scents and potions, pulling out another one. It smelt pleasant and was also good to help with aches and pains, like the ones in his stomach and wrists. He rubbed it into the bruise on his stomach, wincing, before he turned his attention to his wrists, which were rubbed red and sore, with small barely healing scabbing at the edges. 

Jaskier carefully massaged the concoction in, sighing as some of the soreness went away. 

Finally he put the potion away, turning around to grab the loose black shirt and pulling it over his head. It was large on him, making his lean frame look even smaller as the fabric billowed around him. Jaskier ignored Cahir walking towards him, turning around to pull on his boots instead. 

Jaskier scrubbed the towel through his damp hair, trying to dry it as best as he could as he listened to Cahir gather up his things, including his ruined clothes. 

“What are your plans for those?” Jaskier asked confused as Cahir shoved the dirty clothes into the bag with the scents. 

“Could be useful,” Cahir answered simply. “No use wasting it if it can be reused.” 

Jaskier grunted at that, continuing to dry his hair. 

“Come on,” Cahir said impatiently. “Hurry up.”

Jaskier sighed, standing up and relinquishing the towel, which Cahir then placed in the bag. He sighed again as Cahir held up the shackles.

“Are they really necessary?” Jaskier asked, blue eyes widening as he looked to Cahir, trying his best to look innocent and imploring. “I can’t really go anywhere, can I?”

“When I think you won’t do anything foolish, I’ll consider it,” Cahir said, sounding amused as though that would never happen. “For now, you will wear them. Behave and do this without a fuss and I’ll take them off for you to eat.”

With a reluctant sigh, Jaskier held his arms out, allowing Cahir to place the shackles back on and locking them on securely. 

“Jon will check your feet when we get back,” Cahir told him as they started the walk back towards the camp. Jaskier nodded absently as he followed. 

For now, that was all he could do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer chapter for all of those lovely comments I've been getting!   
> Thank you so much, it makes this crazy time a bit easier to bear when I get to read all of them! :)


	8. Snap

Jaskier followed Cahir back into the Nilfgaardian camp, weaving through the maze of tents set up in between the trees, until they reached the main centre of the camp, where a large fire was blazing and the dinner was being cooked. Cahir walked past the fire and the rather delicious smelling food being cooked – Jaskier’s stomach grumbling in protest as they walked past. 

The last time he had eaten was that morning, with nothing during the day. Even when he was travelling with Geralt, and even when times were lean, there was always something to snack on during the day. Geralt usually had some sort of jerky or fruit that he threw at Jaskier throughout the day as they travelled, just to make sure his bard was fed so he didn’t have to listen to Jaskier’s stomach attempt to mimic dying kikimora sounds. 

Cahir had no such qualms apparently.

Jaskier followed him into the healer’s tent, sitting down without being asked and gaining a surprised look from Cahir.

“Well, if I knew taking you to bathe would make you so docile, I would have done it earlier,” Cahir smirked, gaining a huff from Jaskier. Jon walked into the tent, pausing for a moment as he saw them waiting there for him, before smiling.

“Commander,” Jon greeted. “Jaskier, haven’t been getting into more trouble, have you?”

“No,” Jaskier bit, glaring at him. Jon just kept his easy grin as he laughed, walking further into the tent. 

“I took him to clean himself at the river,” Cahir explained. “He had to take his bandages off and wash the salve off his feet. I just want you to check that again.”

Jon nodded. “Sure,” he answered easily before kneeling in front of Jaskier and patting his thighs. “C’mon, Jaskier, you know what to do.”

Jaskier sighed but shifted his legs so his feet were resting on Jon’s black clad thighs. Jon pulled Jaskier’s boots off, resting Jaskier’s feet back on the heavy linen of his pants, as he placed the boots aside. Jon turned his attention back to Jaskier’s feet, humming thoughtfully as he examined them. 

“Almost there,” Jon announced. “One more treatment should ensure that no infection will get in, especially since you did just bathe in the river.” 

Jaskier nodded, glancing at Cahir, who was watching them both intently. Jon shifted Jaskier’s feet aside so he could get up and mix the salve once again. 

“How’s your stomach feeling?” Jon asked him, glancing up as he crushed the ingredients together. “Not feeling any worse?”

“No,” Jaskier answered, hand absently going to touch his bruised stomach. “It’s feeling better.”

“You did rub something on it earlier, along with your wrists,” Cahir spoke up, blue eyes narrowing as he looked at Jaskier. 

“It’s a healing salve I got from a healer a while ago,” Jaskier quickly explained. “It’s to help soothe pain and to quicken the healing.”

“I might need to look at that,” Jon said to Cahir, sounding serious. “I need to make sure it isn’t anything bad.”

“It’s not,” Jaskier insisted. “I’ve used it before and Geralt said it was fine.” 

Cahir ignored him, instead placing Jaskier’s bag down on a nearby table to go rummaging through it, pulling out his soiled clothes absently before he continued looking for the bottle that Jaskier had used. Cahir pulled out the dark bottle, frowning at it for a moment, before turning to Jon.

“This is the one,” he told him. Jon quickly stalked over, taking the bottle from Cahir and heading back to his work table. He uncorked it and gave it a tentative sniff before he sighed, relaxing. 

“It’s fine,” Jon said, his smile returning. “I recognize this one. It’s well made and a safe option.” 

Cahir nodded as he took the bottle back, placing it back within Jaskier’s bag. It could be useful later on. 

Jaskier frowned as he watched Cahir place his ruined clothes back into the bag.

“What do you plan to do with my clothes?” Jaskier asked him. “They’re clearly ruined. You can’t really use them for anything else.” 

“Everything has its use,” Cahir said calmly as he closed the bag. 

“Such as?” Jaskier pressed, curious and a little apprehensive. 

“Well, if you decide to be foolish and run away, we can use this to track you,” Cahir told him pointedly, eyes flashing warningly. Jaskier slouched down further in his seat, stomach twisting at that. 

Right. Crazy mages and their powers. 

“Or perhaps we could send it to your Witcher and get him to rush to your aid,” Cahir continued, watching as Jaskier shot upright in his seat, glaring at him.

“He. Won’t. Come. For. Me,” Jaskier snarled out, fists clenching. “How many times do I have to tell you this?! Besides, you don’t know where he is…that’s why you took me in the first place, so you can really go delivering my filthy clothes to him.”

Cahir stared at him for a moment, mouth twisting into a scowl at that. 

“Uh…right,” Jon interrupted with a cough, trying to break the tense stare down between the two. “Salve is ready and then you can take him to wherever it was you were taking him.”

Jaskier pulled his glare away from Cahir, focusing his attention on Jon instead as Jon came to kneel back in front of him. Jaskier inhaled deeply, trying to calm his angrily racing heart and to prevent himself from lashing out at Cahir.

_Yeah, right…try not to piss of the guy who will decide if you get fed or not_ , Jaskier thought desperately to himself as he watched Jon apply the salve to the bottoms of his feet and over the healing blisters. 

Cahir had gone back to watching them, his sunken blue eyes intent as he did so. 

Jon wrapped up Jaskier’s feet with fresh bandages before he pulled the boots back on, making sure they were sitting snuggly. 

“I’ll just double check your stomach,” Jon said as he stood, motioning for Jaskier to do the same. Jaskier did so, remaining quiet, as Jon lifted the hem of the billowy black shirt. Jon’s fingers deftly ran over the skin of his stomach, gently poking and prodding at the lean muscle, before he nodded contently. 

“That’s fine,” confirmed Jon, looking to Cahir as he fixed Jaskier’s shirt. Jon gave a lopsided grin as he looked back to Jaskier. “Looks good in Nilfgaard clothes, doesn’t he, Commander?”

Cahir gave Jon an unimpressed look, making Jon snicker quietly as he turned back to his equipment.

“If you weren’t so useful, Jon,” Cahir threatened, though it lacked heat. Jon looked over his shoulder at Cahir, grinning still with his green eyes sparkling with mischief.

“I’ve heard that threat a thousand times, Cahir,” Jon retorted, “and I’ve known you long enough.” 

Cahir just shot Jon another look as he reached forward to grab Jaskier’s shackles. 

“You can watch this bag now,” Cahir told Jon instead. “Your responsibility. Make sure nothing happens to it or its contents.” 

Jon nodded, sighing, before Cahir towed Jaskier from the tent. Cahir released his grip on Jaskier’s shackles once they got outside.

“So, uh, you’ve known him a while then?” Jaskier asked awkwardly as they walked. Cahir glanced back at Jaskier, eyebrow raised, before he gave a small huff of breath. 

“A while,” Cahir answered, without really answering. “Still a giant pain in the ass…but he’s a good healer…and a decent human, both of which are in short supply these days.”

Jaskier remained silent on that, instead just following Cahir towards the fire. Cahir settled down on an empty log next to the fire before indicating to the grass next to him. Jaskier sighed but settled down in the grass, leaning back against the wooden log. He watched as the soldiers settled down to eat their dinner, laughing and joking.

“Commander,” one of the soldiers said as he approached, holding two bowls. Cahir accepted his and nodded towards Jaskier. Jaskier took the bowl with a murmured thanks, gaining a nod from the soldier. 

Jaskier looked up at Cahir with an arched eyebrow as the soldier walked away, holding up his bound hands. 

“Do I have to wear these during meals?” Jaskier asked him, bringing up their conversation by the river. “It’s not like I can get anywhere surrounded by your men.”

Cahir gave a considering hum at that, looking at Jaskier thoughtfully, before he nodded. Cahir grabbed the key and reached forward to undo Jaskier’s shackles, placing them nearby for later use. 

Jaskier turned back to his meal, grabbing the wooden cutlery before digging into the warm stew, able to fully enjoy it without his shackles getting in the way. 

He ignored Fringilla as she came to sit beside Cahir, thankfully on the opposite side and away from Jaskier. 

Jaskier placed his bowl aside once he was done, settling back against the wooden log beside him and watching the fire blazing in front of him. 

“Here, Bard,” Jaskier looked up at that, heart skipping a beat when he saw Cahir was being handed his lute case. Jaskier sat up straight at that, reaching for his beloved lute. Cahir handed it over, smirking, before he settled down further on his log.

“Since you were able to bathe this evening, now you can entertain my men,” Cahir said, voice carrying across the clearing. “Show us why you’ve become so well known to play in many courts.”

Jaskier buried a scowl at that, instead turning his attention to his precious lute. He carefully opened the case, letting out a relieved sigh when he saw the instrument was still in perfect condition, despite being handled by ruffians these last few days. 

He let his fingers drift reverently over the stained wood and over the engravings, just relieved to hold it in his hands again. 

With a soft sigh, Jaskier shifted the lute into position before he strummed the first notes, shoulders relaxing as he finally was able to play music once again. 

“Sing something!” a soldier yelled out. Jaskier frowned as he went over his repertoire in his head. Soldiers usually liked the raunchy and upbeat jigs, so Jaskier went for those. 

He could see Fringilla giving him a disapproving look from the other side of Cahir but ignored her as the soldiers cheered and stomped along with his songs. 

After a while, Jaskier needed to take a break and get a drink, his throat getting dry. He reached for the cup that a soldier had brought him, sipping it carefully. 

“Well, I see why you were sought after to play in royal courts,” Cahir spoke up, gaining a surprised look from Jaskier. “Even the Lioness herself couldn’t resist, could she?”

Jaskier turned his head away at that, not wanting to think about Calanthe, knowing she was dead and that Cintra had fallen.

Jaskier carefully placed his lute in the case, just for the moment, so the dampness of the grass didn’t get to it nor was the chance that something could be spilt onto it. He didn’t have the materials for its repair and upkeep here. 

His shoulders bowed in as the conversation turned to the sacking of Cintra, the soldiers laughing and guffawing as they brought up the slaughter. 

“Of course, you got the best kill, Commander,” one of the soldiers laughed. “Getting that so-called King on the battlefield with a single arrow through the eye! How the Lioness _wailed_!”

_Eist_ , Jaskier thought brokenly. Eist was a good man with a good, albeit a bit dirty, humour. 

When Jaskier had come back to Cintra years after that fated betrothal feast, once Ciri had been born, Calanthe had had Jaskier brought to her beforehand, warning him that he was not to breathe a word of what had happened that night, of the Witcher, lest he still wanted to keep his balls. 

Jaskier had quickly and vehemently agreed as Eist had snorted to himself in the corner. Once Calanthe had marched off, Eist had come over to Jaskier’s side, clapping his shoulder.

“ _Careful, Bard,_ ” he had chuckled. “ _She means it…and I’d hate to have to hear the ladies of the court lamenting the loss of you in their beds._ ”

Jaskier swallowed the lump in his throat at the thought of Eist being killed in such a way, knowing Calanthe truly would have mourned for him. Despite her hard-ass attitude, she truly had cared for Eist. 

“Don’t forget the druid,” another soldier spoke up. Jaskier’s head jerked up at that as he stared at the soldier. 

“Watching him try run away, but being chased by that Doppler…it was something,” another agreed. “The great Mousesack killed knowing he failed the princess.”

“You bastards,” Jaskier whispered angrily. “You fucking bastards! Mousesack was a good man! H-How dare you…!” 

Jaskier’s angry ranting was broken off as he was hit across the face. He blinked, looking up at the fuming Cahir above him.

“Watch your tongue, Bard,” he warned him, blue eyes ice cold. Jaskier shook his head, anger raging within him, not wanting to be cowed.

Mousesack had been a great man. He was always there to talk to Jaskier when Jaskier visited Cintra, asking about Geralt and trading stories with Jaskier. Mousesack looked out for him when he was in Cintra, chasing away any angry lords. 

Rage bubbled low in Jaskier’s stomach. He rarely got this furious…only when people attacked Geralt when they should have been fucking grateful to have his help…but when he got this angry, there was no stopping him until he got it out or Geralt flung him over his shoulder and carried him off, still spitting and snarling insults. 

“No,” Jaskier spat. “You fucking killed a good man for your own sick twisted reasons…and it wasn’t even an honourable kill! Mousesack deserved more than what you heartless bastards gave him!” 

Cahir’s face twisted into a snarl and he lunged forward, grabbing Jaskier’s wrist and yanking him up to his feet. Cahir dragged Jaskier towards the fire, with Jaskier immediately struggling against his grasp. 

Two soldiers leapt forward to help Cahir, holding Jaskier tightly as they moved him closer to the fire. Cahir wrenched open Jaskier’s fingers, holding his palm open and in position, forcing it towards the flame.

The anger quickly left Jaskier as full blooded fear flooded his being, feeling the heat against the open palm of his hand.

“Fuck!” Jaskier swore desperately, writhing against the grips on him, trying to break free. “Fuck, please, no!” 

“Do not ever disrespect me in front of my men again, understood?” Cahir hissed in his ear.

“Yes!” Jaskier cried in panic, the heat on his palm beginning to become unbearable as one errant flame briefly licked the calloused skin. “Please! Let me go, please! Stop!” 

Cahir nodded to the soldiers, who released Jaskier, though he kept the tight grip on Jaskier’s wrist.

“No, no, no, no,” pleaded Jaskier, pulling against Cahir’s strong grip. “Please! I’m sorry!” 

Cahir released Jaskier’s wrist, watching as the bard flailed and fell backwards onto his rear heavily, quickly scrambling back and away from the fire. 

Jaskier was forced to stop as his back hit the wooden log, chest heaving in his panic as he stared at Cahir, who was still standing next to the large fire, eyes cold as he watched Jaskier panic. 

Jaskier curled up into himself, wrapping his arms around himself and drawing his knees up, trying to be as small as possible to escape Cahir’s never ending stare. He trembled as he buried his head into his knees, breaths still escaping him in gasped breaths as he tried to calm his panicked racing heart. 

He hesitantly shifted his hand into his curl, dreading to look at it. He swallowed deeply, a rough sob escaping his control when he saw the skin on his palm was just a little red but there were no burns. 

A hand gently touched his shoulder, startling him.

“Jaskier,” Jon’s voice murmured quietly by his ear. “Let me see your hand.”

Jaskier shakily uncurled himself just enough to give his hand to Jon, though he kept his head buried in his knees, hiding himself away. Jon gently took his hand, turning it over, fingers running lightly over the red, calloused skin as he examined it.

“It isn’t bad,” Jon murmured to him. “Just like getting a slight sunburn. It will heal.” 

Jaskier tucked his hand back against his chest, gasping sobs still escaping his control as the adrenaline rush from that fearful experience fled his body. 

He had never so scared in his life.

He had been attacked by wolves, bandits and jilted lovers and their spouses…but this was different. Jaskier knew he could usually bluff his way out of bad situations or that Geralt would be there to help him in others…but this was different. He couldn’t talk his way out with Cahir…and Cahir just proved that he would hurt Jaskier in one of the worst ways, by hurting his hands, the limbs that gave Jaskier his freedom and allowed him to express himself in playing his lute. 

“Breathe, Jaskier,” Jon’s concerned voice floated over him, a hand resting on his shoulder. “Jaskier, you need to breathe. Deep, slow breaths, come on now.” 

Jaskier finally managed to calm his breathing down, though his heart was still racing just that little bit, and lifted his head, frightened, tear stained, puffy blue eyes darting around, searching for Cahir.

“He’s gone to speak with Fringilla,” Jon informed him, seeming to read his expression. Jaskier swallowed deeply as he looked to Jon, finding the healer sitting beside him, legs crossed with Jaskier’s lute case across his lap. Jaskier cautiously reached out for it and Jon relinquished it, watching as Jaskier hugged it tightly to his chest. 

“That was foolish, Jaskier,” Jon told him, voice low and chiding. “You can’t disrespect a commander in front of his men like that.”

Jaskier swallowed harshly once again, shaking his head as he hugged his lute tighter.

“You killed my friend,” Jaskier whispered, voice breaking. “I was angry. You…he…you killed a good man, a good druid. Mousesack died for your Emperor’s crusade.”

“Regimes fall all the time, Jaskier,” Jon said easily with a shrug. “Nilfgaard went through several kings until our true Emperor came to claim the throne.”

“I know,” Jaskier bit out harshly before swallowing and averting his eyes as Jon looked at him. “I-I knew that Calanthe could be killed in battle, I knew that Cintra could fall…but everyone I knew there, the citizens, the ladies in waiting, the servants and Mousesack…they were _good_. They…they were just living their lives as best they could. They didn’t deserve to be slaughtered.”

Jon stared at Jaskier before he sighed heavily and leaned back on his arms.

“That’s the thing about wars, Jaskier,” Jon murmured, “Innocents get caught up in it…and they’re not always completely innocent. They blindly follow those who don’t care about them, following the ways of their leaders, treating Halflings and elves and creatures horribly.”

“Mousesack didn’t,” whispered Jaskier. “He was a druid. He was kind and accepted people for who they were. He accepted Geralt and was his friend, while others would sneer at him for being a Witcher, even those he helped.”

“Like Calanthe?” Jon pressed. Jaskier just closed his eyes and hugged his lute case tighter. “There were whispers after the sacking of Cintra,” Jon continued, voice careful and slow. “Whispers from some of the Nilfgaard soldiers who swore they saw a man with golden eyes and white hair as Cintra burned.”

Jaskier’s eyes flew open at that as he looked to Jon in disbelief. 

“Geralt…why would he?”

“Maybe he had come to claim his child surprise,” Jon answered with a shrug. “Maybe Calanthe grew fearful of him claiming the Law of Surprise and had him locked away.”

Jon sighed heavily as he pushed himself back up, wiping his hands on his pants. 

“Again, just whispers and rumors…but enough that it gives credence to the rumours that the Witcher is travelling with Princess Cirilla,” Jon murmured. "Which is why you became a necessary target."

“I don’t know,” Jaskier muttered. “He didn’t want anything to do with her when I spoke to him last.”

Jon stared at Jaskier for a moment longer, running a hand through his hair to push his unruly curls back.

“I need to get back to work,” Jon said quietly, green eyes sincere as they met Jaskier’s gaze. “Stay quiet and follow orders, Jaskier. Don’t make him punish you for something stupid.”

Jaskier gave a bitter huff of laughter, but nodded slowly. Jon patted Jaskier’s shoulder once more before he stood up and strode off. 

He sat there, still clutching his lute case, before he carefully set it down, bringing his lute out. 

“ _Save your melancholy nonsense for my funeral_ ,” Calanthe’s voice echoed through his thoughts. 

_I’m sorry,_ Jaskier thought, as he plucked the first few notes, playing the melancholy songs he knew – the ones without words as he couldn’t bear to sing with his still shaky voice. 

_Eist, Calanthe, Mousesack,_ Jaskier thought sadly. _I’m so sorry_.

He looked up a little while later when the soldiers had quietened down and a pair of legs came to a stop beside him. Cahir was staring down at him, blue eyes unreadable.

Jaskier just quietly placed his lute in the case, making sure it was secure before looking to Cahir. Cahir held up the shackles and Jaskier wordlessly offered his wrists, not wanting to anger Cahir, knowing he was capable of being cruel. 

“Good choice,” Cahir murmured as he locked the shackles and pulled Jaskier to his feet by the chain.

“My lute…” Jaskier trailed off, looking at the case leaning against the wooden log. 

“Will be stored safely,” Cahir promised. “Can’t have the bard without his instrument, can we?” 

Jaskier swallowed and gave another small nod, trying to ignore how his heart was racing fearfully in his chest with Cahir standing so close. He just remained silent and followed Cahir as he walked towards the pen. 

Yennefer walked into the inn, pausing for a moment as she eyed off the occupants, before she continued onwards, finding a seat at a corner table and waving over one of the bar maids. 

She sipped her wine as she kept her sharp purple eyes on the occupants, listening to any chatter she could pick up. It could be a job or it could be something more interesting, she never quite knew what she would hear. 

“Hey, why don’t we have a bard?” one of the drunks slurred to the inn keeper, who was a young looking one. The inn keeper frowned at that, sighing. 

“We did have one,” he informed the drunk. “He played here for a few days…but Nilfgaard came for him.”

“What?” another drunk hiccupped. “A bard?”

The inn keeper nodded gravely. “Saw it myself. Saw that black armour as they led the poor bard out of here. Couple of scouts, I reckon, but capable ones…not ones I wanted to be going against. Poor bard tried to reassure me that he was okay, but I could see how terrified he was.”

Yennefer froze mid sip as she listened to that conversation. Something within her twisted uncomfortably.

No…it couldn’t be him. It couldn’t be.

She tried to push that thought away. Jaskier was annoying and a pain in the ass, but it couldn’t have been him.

“They said they just wanted to talk to him and then let him go, but even I could tell that was bullshit,” the inn keeper continued bitterly. “It’s been almost a ten day now and he hasn’t returned nor have I heard that he is playing in other towns.”

Yennefer closed her eyes. She really didn’t care for the bard…except there was something about the annoying little twerp that wormed under one’s skin. She knew that Geralt cared for the bard and that the bard cared for him just as much, if not more. 

Yennefer sighed, leaning back. 

It couldn’t hurt to ask…just to make sure it wasn’t Jaskier.

“The bard’s name,” she spoke up, startling the inn keeper and the two drunks he was talking to. “What was his name?”

“Jaskier,” the inn keeper replied, uncertain. “He’s known as the White Wolf’s Bard.”

Yennefer pushed herself to her feet, heart sinking as her fears were confirmed.

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow, thank you all so much for the comments last chapter!!  
> A nice long chapter for all of those lovely comments which inspired me to write this one even quicker!
> 
> Geralt might be a chapter or two away...depending on how the next chapter turns out!


	9. Yennefer

It took Yennefer a few days to track down the Nilfgaard camping, carefully following their trail until she found them camped in a field clearing beside a forest. She frowned as she hid herself in the tree line, peering at the camp. 

She was surprised to see them this close to Sodden again, especially after last time…but it looked like they had regained their numbers after herself and the mages had decimated them last time, before Folstest had chased the rest of the Nilfgaard soldiers away. 

Yennefer hid herself behind the tree as two patrol-men walked by. 

She had to be careful and remain hidden, lest the soldiers spotted her and Fringilla and her mindless followers find her. Yennefer kept in the shadows, watching and waiting, biding her time. She watched for hours, watching as the soldiers laughed around the large camp fire. 

Finally, they began to disperse, heading off to their tents for the night. 

Once things have quieted down, Yennefer crept out into the camp, moving quickly between the tents, staying out of the eyesight of the patrol-men as she searched the camp for the bard.

She had just passed by a pen filled with horses, pausing as something caught her eye. Glancing around the silent tents and the eerily quiet camp, Yennefer crept towards the pen, _something_ within her pulling her to go and investigate. 

With her sharp eyes, she could spot a lump lying on the ground in the middle of the pen, in a space where the horses couldn’t reach. The bundle moved, giving a sneeze.   
Yennefer sighed quietly, moving into the pen. 

“Jaskier?” she whispered as she approached the bundle. The blanket moved, a dishevelled head popping out from underneath it. 

Jaskier’s blue eyes widened as Yennefer approached, taking in the bruised face. Jaskier quickly scrambled back, his back hitting the pole he was lying next to.

“Stop,” Jaskier breathed. “I-I’ve been good, I-I’ve behaved…Fringilla, stop this. You’re not _her_!”

Yennefer shifted her dark blue skirts so she could kneel in front of the shaken bard.

“Jaskier, it really is me,” Yennefer said, voice quiet. She was a bit disturbed that Jaskier’s immediate thought when he saw her was that it was Fringilla. “I heard what had happened and came to find you…don’t ask why,” she added when she saw the suspicion in his blue eyes. “I still don’t know why myself, you’re a giant pain in my ass.”

Jaskier stared at her, eyes narrowed with wariness and suspicion, unease pulling at his face. It made Yennefer’s stomach tighten weirdly. She was so used to see the bard happy-go-lucky or with a mischievous glint in his eye, even when they were snarling at each other and trading barbs.

“The first time I met you I held a knife to your throat and held you by your balls,” Yennefer tried instead. “The last time I saw you I brought up your crows feet…you told me my jokes were old.”

“’Cause I don’t have crows feet,” Jaskier mumbled as he gave a weak smile at that, his shoulders relaxing slightly. 

“No, you’re aging particularly well, you annoying twit,” Yennefer responded, smiling slightly.

“Ah, Yen, always a delight,” Jaskier rasped, smiling weakly. Yennefer laughed softly as she shifted closer, now that Jaskier had calmed. 

“The bruises definitely don’t improve your looks though,” she continued their normal banter, watching as Jaskier relaxed further, even though pain flashed through his eyes.

“Still sharp as ever too,” Jaskier laughed softly, glancing about. 

“Patrol won’t be by for a little while,” Yennefer murmured, seeing Jaskier’s nerves. “We should get out of here though.”

Jaskier nodded quickly, throwing the blanket off himself. Yennefer frowned as she saw the two pairs of shackles. A pair on Jaskier’s wrists and a pair on Jaskier’s ankles, which was attached to the pole.

“Are we portalling out?” he asked eagerly as Yennefer examined the shackles, trying to figure out the best way to free him. 

“Not here,” Yennefer explained absently as she flicked her fingers, watching as Jaskier’s shackles fell away. Jaskier rubbed at his wrists as he frowned at Yennefer.

“Why?”

“It will freak the horses out and draw attention,” Yennefer explained as she stood up, brushing the grass from her skirts. “It will also alert Fringilla and her followers.”

Jaskier shuddered at that as he got to his feet. 

“Come on, Bard,” she said as she strode towards the pen exit. “We need to leave…unless you want to be stuck here.”

“Nope…I’m good,” Jaskier said hurriedly as he quickly followed after her. Yennefer glanced back at Jaskier as they passed under one of the lamp lights, frowning when she saw the state he was in…and his clothes. 

She knew Jaskier to wear bright, garish, silky and tailored clothes…not this drab, shapeless black clothing which was a bit dishevelled and dirty. Even Jaskier’s hair was tangled and all over the place. 

“Why did you think I was Fringilla?” she asked quietly as they moved through the tents.

Jaskier was quiet for a moment. “I angered Cahir the other day,” he explained quietly. “Even though he…he punished me for it, Fringilla took offence to me mouthing off apparently and has been tormenting me.”

Yennefer felt a spark of anger at Jaskier’s quiet, broken voice as it quavered. 

“What did she do?” Yennefer asked, barely holding back a snarl. Jaskier just shuddered and shook his head, remaining quiet. Yennefer glanced back at the bard in concern.

She had never known him to this quiet. Usually she couldn’t get him to shut up. 

“I’m guessing since you thought I was her that she’s been causing hallucinations or getting others to appear as those you know,” Yennefer said, purple eyes darting about as they neared the edge of camp.

Jaskier just shook his head again. Yennefer threw out her arm, stopping Jaskier as figures suddenly came to stand in front of them, blocking their path. 

Jaskier gave a whimper as a male with brown hair and sunken blue eyes stepped forward, lips twisted into a smirk.

“I was wondering how long it would take before word got around that we had the bard,” he said. “Though we were hoping for the Witcher…not the witch.” 

Yennefer just gave an empty smile, moving to push Jaskier behind her. She could feel him trembling slightly against her arm.

“Well, we can’t all get what we want,” she responded, gaze flicking to Fringilla. “I didn’t want to spend my night in some Nilfgaard camp, but here I am.”

The man smiled at that, looking to Fringilla. Fringilla’s lips twisted into a condescending smile.

“I’m surprised that you came for the bard,” she sneered. “You’re never one to do anything if it doesn’t benefit you. How does saving this mere bard help you?”

Yennefer glared at Fringilla at that, purple eyes blazing. 

“The thing about this bard is he gets under your skin,” Yennefer responded, gaze flicking about, trying to find the best way out. “Like an annoying puppy.”

“Thanks, Yen,” Jaskier muttered from behind her. 

“And as… _thrilling_ as this conversation is, we do need to be on our way,” Yennefer continued, looking back at them, eyes dark with promise. “Otherwise there will be a repeat of what happened at Sodden.”

“The loss of control?” Fringilla said with a sneer. “The Chaos?”

“That wasn’t a loss of control,” Yennefer growled back before she gave a soft laugh. “It’s something you _wish_ you were capable of.”

She raised an eyebrow when Fringilla looked to the mages next to her, who nodded and moved forward.

“You’re going to sacrifice them?” Yennefer sneered.

“Don’t push her, Yennefer,” Jaskier whispered from behind her, voice shaking. “She doesn’t care if it kills them. She’ll use them anyway.”

Jaskier had seen it, forced to be by Cahir’s side all the time. He had watched, horrified, as two of Fringilla’s mages sacrificed themselves, one getting gutted by Fringilla and the other turning to dust, as they tried different methods to find Geralt and Ciri.

“The bard knows what he’s talking about,” the man said, turning to Fringilla and gesturing to her. Fringilla scowled but ordered her mages back.

“And you are?”

“Cahir,” Cahir introduced himself. “I believe we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot.”

Yennefer stared at him, unimpressed. “You’ve kidnapped and abused a bard, one who has no training, unlike yourself…and you’re the one responsible for the deaths of my friends at Sodden.”

“You killed many there yourself, Yennefer,” Cahir countered. 

“To save who was left,” snapped Yennefer. Cahir just hummed, looking to the side as Jon approached, holding something in his hand. 

“This will either come to a fight, where you will lose, Yennefer,” Cahir spoke up as he took the thing from Jon. “Or you can leave the bard behind and deliver a message.”

Yennefer caught the item as Cahir threw it to her, frowning down at the dirty, stained silk blue doublet. Her gaze flashed to Jaskier once she caught sight of the blood droplets upon it, seeing Jaskier was staring at his old doublet, pale. 

“And what do you expect me to do with this?” Yennefer asked, needing to stall. She could try conjure a portal now, but it could be intercepted by Fringilla and the others…and she and Jaskier could be hurt in the attempt to escape. 

“Deliver to the Witcher,” Cahir stated as he and the others slowly approached, getting within mere feet of Yennefer and Jaskier. “Deliver it to Geralt of Rivia and tell him that I have his bard.” 

Jaskier looked to Yennefer, see her purple eyes were calculating as they looked around. He knew that Yennefer wouldn’t do it, that she wouldn’t give in to his demands. 

Yennefer would do her best to fight, to find a way out, as she couldn’t bear to lose. 

Jaskier swallowed harshly, hand grasping at the soft material of Yennefer’s bodice for a moment, feeling her body warmth through the fine material, and tried to steel himself. 

Geralt may not come to rescue him…but if he heard they had Yennefer, then Jaskier knew he wouldn’t hesitate. 

“Keep him safe,” Jaskier whispered to Yennefer, catching her attention. She turned to look at him, lips pulling down into a frown as her eyes widened, registering what he said.

“Jaskier…”

“Keep him safe!” Jaskier cried out before he lunged at Cahir, tackling the surprised commander to the ground. The soldiers were thrown for a moment, shocked as they watched Jaskier grapple against Cahir, throwing punches.

“GO!” Jaskier screamed at Yennefer, who was still staring, gobsmacked. “Keep him away! Keep him safe, Yennefer!” 

Yennefer quickly turned away as the soldiers finally regained their senses as Fringilla screamed at them. She opened up a portal, leaping through it, with the doublet still held tightly in her hand. 

Yennefer’s heart was racing in her chest as she landed in her new destination, breathing heavily. She still couldn’t believe Jaskier did that, to leap on his captor, despite being surrounded by his soldiers and mages, to give Yennefer time to escape so she could protect Geralt. 

She leaned against a wall for a moment, regaining her breath as she looked at the doublet still clutched tightly in her hand. 

“I see why he kept you around,” Yennefer murmured to the soiled material. “You’re annoying as hell, but you’re loyal, aren’t you?”

Yennefer looked up, frowning as she looked out the alley she was in, staring at the town. 

“We’re going to get you out of there,” she promised. “Just hang on, Jaskier. I’m going to find Geralt.”

Jaskier grappled with Cahir on the ground as the commander fought to gain the upper hand. 

Jaskier may not be well versed when it came to using a sword and much preferred to try talk his way out of trouble, but when it came to hand to hand fights and brawls…well, he knew he was an opponent, not one that the other could defeat easily.

Geralt had always presumed that he couldn’t take of himself…but he had done so every time they had separated for the weeks and months. He had defended himself in bar brawls and against mouthy attackers.

He had gained quite a reputation in Oxenfurt for his brawling skills, with his long, flexible limbs useful to wrap around his opponent and pin them down while he punched or kicked with his free limbs. 

Jaskier had just landed a solid elbow to Cahir’s chin when a hand grasped the back of his shirt and yanked him off of the Nilfgaard commander. Jaskier struggled as he thrown into the soldiers’ strong grips, as they held on tightly to his upper arms, holding him firm against their unmoving selves. 

Jaskier glared at Cahir, blood dripping from his nose and split lip, as Cahir stalked over, having pushed away Fringilla’s help and care as she had tried to fuss over the blood leaking from Cahir’s own mouth and nose where Jaskier had landed a few solid hits. 

“That was foolish,” Cahir hissed at him. Jaskier just glared up at him before spitting out a mouthful of blood into the grass next to Cahir’s foot. He groaned as one of the soldiers suddenly punched him in the stomach.

“Not…letting…you…hurt…Geralt,” Jaskier managed to snarl out. “Or Yennefer.”

Cahir just made a thoughtful noise as he swiped his hand under his nose, wiping away the blood. 

“She took your doublet,” Cahir informed him. “I have a feeling that she’s going to deliver our message anyway.”

Jaskier shook his head desperately. “He won’t come for me!” 

“You keep saying that, but I think once he sees your doublet, once the witch tells him of your plight, I don’t think he’ll be able to keep away,” Cahir said absently as he stared at the blood smeared across the back of his hand. “Your actions were foolish, Jaskier, I thought you’d learnt your lesson by now.”

Jaskier just glared weakly at him, though his heart raced in panic. Geralt wouldn’t come…he just wouldn’t…right?

“Perhaps a…firmer hand is needed,” Cahir continued thoughtfully. “Ren!”

Jaskier’s head snapped up at that, watching as the soldier who had kidnapped him in the first place, came striding up, a sharp smile adorning his lips.

“Yes, Commander?”

“Make a switch,” Cahir ordered, his blue eyes fixed firmly on Jaskier’s face, watching as Jaskier paled. “This lesson will be one to leave a mark.” 

Ren nodded, grinning at Jaskier, before he headed off into the forest to gather the material. Cahir nodded to the soldiers holding Jaskier, before he turned on heel and stalked towards the forest himself. Jaskier was dragged along to follow, though he struggled with all of his might against the strong grips holding him. 

“Get some rope!” Cahir barked at another soldier. Jaskier struggled and fought, spitting and swearing, as he was dragged towards a thin tree. He grunted in pain as his chest was slammed against the rough bark. His arms were forced around the tree before his wrists were tied tightly with rough rope. Jaskier fought and struggled, trying to break free, but the rope refused to give, leaving him standing there with his chest against the tree and his arms wrapped around the thin trunk, unable to move.

“Here, Commander,” Ren’s smug voice came from somewhere behind him. Jaskier tensed when his shirt was lifted and forced over his head so his back was left exposed. He turned his head to the side, rough bark scraping against his cheek, just able to see Cahir standing there, examining the long switch in his hand. 

Cahir nodded, content with the quality of the switch, before he walked over to Jaskier, resting his cold hand against Jaskier’s back.

“Let us hope this curbs your disrespect,” Cahir murmured to him. “I do hate having to permanently damage you…to leave horrid scars.”

Jaskier just snarled at him before he gritted his teeth as Cahir moved back.

Jaskier flinched as pain flared red hot across his back, barely swallowing the whimper of pain that wanted to erupt. 

The switch was brought down again and again with varying hardness across his back, making Jaskier jerk against the rough bark of the tree every time, trying to escape the pain. He cried out, struggling to break free, as another hit landed against his back. 

“Stop, please!” he cried out. 

No one answered his pleas. Hit after hit landed on his back until Jaskier’s knees buckled under him and he screamed out hoarsely in pain. 

Jaskier’s wrists were cut free and he fell to his knees in front of the tree, resting his forehead against it as he whimpered, feeling as though his back was on fire. 

Cahir crouched beside him, examining the mess of bruises and thin slices trickling blood across Jaskier’s lean back.

“Don’t ever attack me again,” Cahir warned him, getting a weak nod and whimper from the bard. “From now on, you’ll be remaining by my side so you don’t attempt anything else foolish…and for when the Witcher arrives.”

Jaskier just breathed raggedly, unable to gather up any energy to spit out a reply. 

Despite the pain, a feeling of satisfaction burned within him as he looked at Cahir, seeing his face was already beginning to bruise from Jaskier’s punches. 

“Take him to my tent,” Cahir was ordering soldiers as he stood; Jaskier still breathing raggedly as he leaned against the tree. “Jon, meet us there with your supplies.

“Yes, Commander.”

Jaskier groaned as his arms were grabbed once again and he was pulled to his feet and half-support-half-dragged back through the camp, vision swimming and stomach roiling as pain flared through his back, and into a large tent. 

He was set down on a pile of furs on the ground and manhandled so he was lying on his stomach. Jaskier turned his head to the side so he could watch everyone around him wearily. 

Cahir was standing near a small table, dabbing at his face with a wet cloth, trying to clean up the blood from the injuries he had sustained from Jaskier as Fringilla stood beside him, muttering to him. 

A sigh of relief escaped him when he saw Jon duck into the tent, his green eyes immediately zoning in on Jaskier. 

“Just clean his wounds and treat them so they don’t get infected and give him minimal pain killers only,” Cahir spoke up, interrupting Fringilla, who looked irked. “Nothing to quicken the healing. This is a lesson he needs to suffer.”

“Yes, Commander,” Jon nodded as he walked to Jaskier’s side, kneeling down beside him. He frowned as he took in the numerous thin lacerations criss-crossing across Jaskier’s heaving back, sitting upon a mess of mottled bruising from the light hits. 

“This is going to hurt,” he warned Jaskier quietly as he grabbed a cloth from his bag, fingers drifting over the vials before he picked up, tipping the contents onto the cloth.   
Jaskier just nodded, fingers clenching into the furs beneath him. He bit down on one of the furs, muffling his scream of pain as Jon carefully cleaned up the wounds on his back. 

“Almost there,” Jon murmured to him. “Then I have a salve that will ease the pain.” 

Jaskier nodded weakly, watching as Jon wrung out the now blood soaked cloth. 

Jaskier gave a shudder, spitting out the fur in his mouth. 

“Salve now,” Jon warned him. “Bit of a sting but then the pain will ease.”

Jaskier nodded once again, tensing. Jon carefully applied the salve even as Jaskier hissed in pain and writhed in pain under his careful hands. 

Jon turned to clean his hands once he had done, wiping the blood and salve remnants away. He grabbed another cloth from his bag, covering one side in the salve, before he laid it across Jaskier’s back.

It would help ease the pain for a while at least.

Jon reached up to untuck the shirt from under Jaskier’s neck, pulling it back down so it could cover Jaskier’s back and keep him warm. 

Jaskier blinked up, looking at him hazily. Jon glanced back to see Cahir and Fringilla were still talking.

“That was brave…but foolish, Jaskier,” Jon murmured to him. Jaskier just gave a weak smile.

“Had to do it,” he mumbled. “Can’t let friends get hurt.” 

Jon ran a gentle hand down the back of Jaskier’s head, smoothing down the soft brown hair.

“Sleep, Jaskier,” was Jon’s response to that. “Rest and heal.” 

Jaskier closed his eyes, body going limp as the adrenaline rush finally ran it course, leaving him tired and exhausted. He heard Jon get up, gathering his bag, and going over to talk to Cahir and Fringilla in low tones so that Jaskier couldn’t hear. 

Jaskier knew he had to get away, especially since Yennefer had his doublet. Once he would have doubted that Yennefer would have helped him, would have told Geralt that he was in trouble, but she had come to the Nilfgaard camp herself to attempt to rescue him.

He knew that she would tell Geralt…and he couldn’t risk Geralt coming and being put in the same position he was in now. He couldn’t risk Geralt putting Ciri’s safety and wellbeing at risk if she was really with him. 

Jaskier gave a small moan of pain as he shifted, pain rippling across his back.

Once he could move…he would make a run for it…he would do everything he could to escape, to fight back, to get away in case Geralt did come for him.

Part of him couldn’t help but doubt it though, those words from the mountain echoing through his head once more.

Another part of him was hopeful that once Geralt saw his doublet that he would realise what he said on the mountain as wrong and would regret it…and that he would come for Jaskier, just like all of the times before. 

He could just see Geralt’s concerned amber eyes…and he allowed himself to drift into unconsciousness with that image searing in his mind. 

Yennefer finally tracked Geralt down in a forest near some small, godforsaken town. He was sitting by the fire, staring into the flame pensively. He looked up, eyes widening when he saw it was her approaching, though looking a bit worse for wear.

“Yen,” he breathed as he got to his feet. “What are you doing here?”

Yennefer was about to snarl at the white haired Witcher when a sleepy voice interrupted them.

“Geralt?” a pile of blankets shifted and a young, blonde haired girl sat up, rubbing her eyes tiredly. They both stared at each other for a moment.

“I know you,” the girl said. “You’re the one in my dreams.”

“Ciri, this is Yennefer,” Geralt murmured, the bulky Witcher looking awkward as he looked in between the two. “Yen…this is…”

“Princess Cirilla,” Yennefer said, a knowing feeling settling within her. “Your child surprise, I’m guessing.”

“Hmm,” Geralt hummed, before folding his arms across his chest, amber eyes regarding Yennefer. “What are you doing here, Yen?”

Yennefer wordlessly threw something at him, which Geralt caught out of reflex. 

Yennefer watched as Geralt’s face pulled into a deeper frown as he looked at what he was holding, fingers drifting over the silky material as he straightened it up, trying to get a better look at it. She watched as his nostrils flared, scenting the air.

Geralt knew that scent.

Lavender and chamomile with a flowery scent.

_Jaskier_.

It was marred by the coppery scent of blood and the faded scent of distress and fear. 

Geralt’s head snapped up, amber eyes wide as he looked at Yennefer, who was watching him, a knowing, tired look in her purple gaze.

“Jaskier?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer is not easy to write...
> 
> I am so blown away by all of your comments, it has really meant a lot to read all of them and I greatly appreciate every single one of them!
> 
> ...so I added in that little Geralt teaser at the end for you all ;)


	10. Run

Jaskier struggled to open his eyes the next morning, warm and safe buried in the furs. It was only once he shifted and a burst of pain arced through his back, his eyes snapping open, his teeth gritting in pain as he arched, that he truly remembered where he was and what had happened the night before.

“Morning,” came the snide reply from the other side of the tent. Jaskier blinked his pained, watery eyes, carefully rolling onto his side so he could see. Cahir was standing next to his own cot, straightening his clothes. “How’s your back this morning?”

Jaskier just glowered at him, wincing as he shifted on the pile of furs, trying to get more comfortable and not disturb the wounds across his back.

“I told you not to try anything foolish,” Cahir just chided as he sat down on his cot to pull on his boots. “You do the wrong thing, Bard, you get punished. That is the way of life.”

“Stupid way of life,” Jaskier hissed in return. Cahir just hummed in response, turning to face Jaskier, resting his elbows on his thighs and leaning forward, fingers interlocking under his chin. 

Jaskier just let his head slump against the furs, closing his eyes. He spluttered and squawked in indignation when something soft hit him in the face. His blue eyes snapped open, finding the offending item was a pillow.

“Use it before you pull something in your neck,” Cahir told him. “Don’t need you complaining about that as well.” 

Jaskier stuffed the pillow under his head, finding it a bit more comfortable to lay on his side now…though he didn’t tell Cahir that. Cahir just sat there, leaning forward and examining Jaskier intently. 

“Don’t you have an army to command or something?” Jaskier muttered. “Villages to pillage and burn?”

“Not yet,” Cahir responded, not rising to Jaskier’s bait. Jaskier sighed tiredly, letting his eyes slip close. 

There was silence, though Jaskier could feel Cahir’s gaze was still fixed on him intently, feeling the hair on the back of his neck prickle. 

“You knew the princess?” Cahir spoke up a little while later, making Jaskier open his eyes. Cahir was still staring at him unblinkingly. 

“Yes,” Jaskier sighed. No use trying to lie about something Cahir already knew about. “I barely knew her though.”

“No?”

Jaskier shook his head, eyes drifting close again. 

“Calanthe didn’t like her getting too close to me, didn’t want me slipping up about what happened the night of Pavetta’s betrothal,” Jaskier murmured. “I wouldn’t have though…I valued my balls too much.”

“Your balls?” Cahir asked, amused. 

“Calanthe threatened to cut my balls off if I ever told Ciri what happened that night,” Jaskier laughed softly, sadly as he remembered the headstrong, fierce Queen. 

“Sounds like her,” Cahir agreed, leaning forward again. “You ever meet the Princess?”

“Once or twice,” Jaskier admitted, shuffling slightly on the furs. He closed his eyes, recalling one of the last times he was in Cintra. He remembered seeing the bright eyed, blonde haired Princess in a gorgeous golden dress, trying to pull Eist out to dance with her. 

He still remembered the loving smile on Eist’s face as he complied with the Princess’s demands, spinning around the small Princess. 

Afterwards, she had come to Jaskier as he had stopped to take a break and have a drink. He had just turned around and froze when he saw her standing there, going tense as he looked around for Calanthe, fearful for his balls. Ciri had just beamed up at him, swaying slightly and making her golden dress sweep around her. 

She had asked him about his lute and how long he had been playing. She had asked him if he knew any other songs she could dance to.

Jaskier had acquiesced to her pleads, even though he wasn’t due back to play yet. He had settled down on a step with his lute, strumming out a tune as he sang along softly. He had smiled as he watched her dance to her own private concert as the two of them sat in the corner, in their own little world. 

Jaskier remembered glancing up, seeing Calanthe watching them, though she was smiling slightly, her usually hard eyes soft as she watched Ciri dance and spin around freely. 

“What is she like?” Cahir asked Jaskier quietly, breaking Jaskier from his memory. “The White Flame wants her well and healthy when we retrieve her. I just want to make sure she’s safe.” 

“She’s sweet, kind,” Jaskier admitted with a soft sigh. “But you’re not going to get her. Geralt will _never_ let you near her. He’s very protective, like a wolf.”

“He wasn’t of you,” Cahir quickly shot back. Jaskier felt the air rush from him like he had just received a punch to the gut. Cahir nodded, sunken blue eyes fixed on Jaskier, who had paled, his eyes wide and pained. 

“If he was protective of you, we wouldn’t have been able to get you,” Cahir continued.

“Stop,” Jaskier whispered brokenly, closing his eyes. “Please…stop.”

“You made a foolish move, tackling me to let the witch escape,” Cahir went on, ignoring Jaskier’s pleas. “You got yourself hurt to protect the monster who wished you gone from his life.”

Jaskier’s eyes snapped open, blue eyes blazing as he glared at Cahir.

“Geralt may be a lot of things,” snarled Jaskier, voice brimming with rage, “but he is _not_ a monster!” 

Cahir just hummed lowly in his throat, a curious look within his sunken blue eyes as he regarded Jaskier. 

They fell into silence though rage still bubbled low in Jaskier’s stomach as he closed his eyes, taking in deep breaths to try calm himself down.

Geralt may be a lot of things. He may be emotionally constipated, doesn’t exactly play nicely with others and doesn’t exactly use his words…but he wasn’t a monster. 

Jaskier had witnessed him speak so gently and calm to women who he had rescued from some horrible monster. He had seen him give the small, rare smiles to the young children brave enough to run up to him and pull at his hands. Jaskier had watched him tend to Roach and watched him give scraps to the strays that ran about towns. 

Geralt may have believed himself to be a monster, but Jaskier knew that he was more human than most of the population. 

Jaskier found himself in more than one fight trying to defend Geralt. Sure, there were somethings people said about Geralt that just irked him…but as soon as one spat at Geralt and called him a monster, well, Jaskier just saw red. 

Geralt usually had to toss Jaskier over his shoulder and carry him off, spitting and swearing, before the situation devolved into something more serious. 

No matter what had happened on the mountain, Jaskier would never let anyone call Geralt a monster. 

Jaskier opened his eyes a little while later when he heard movement. Cahir was on his feet, talking to a soldier and nodding. 

He scowled when Fringilla swept her way into the tent, gaining an amused look from Cahir. Cahir looked back to Jaskier, who was looking between the two of them suspiciously. 

“Since you cannot be trusted by yourself, Fringilla will be watching you while I go ‘ _command an army_ ’,” Cahir said, parroting Jaskier’s earlier words. Jaskier just scowled at him, throwing a look to Fringilla.

Jaskier watched as Cahir left before he looked to Fringilla, who looked just as thrilled as he was that she was on babysitting duty. 

Jaskier just turned, pulling up one of the furs up and over his head so he didn’t have to look or talk to Fringilla. He heard a small scoff from her.

“Childish,” he heard her mutter. “I’d rather not be stuck here watching you either.”

Jaskier ignored her, keeping himself burrowed under the furs. 

He must have dozed off because the next thing he knew was there were a muttering of voices before the fur was lifted off his head. Jaskier blinked at the sudden light dazedly before focusing on the grinning face above him.

“Jaskier,” Jon greeted. “How are you feeling today?”

“Jon?” Jaskier mumbled sleepily, reaching up to rub at his eyes before hissing in pain as the skin on his back pulled at movement.

“I take it you’re still a bit sore,” Jon said lightly, gently turning Jaskier so he was lying on his stomach. “Let me have a look.”

Jaskier blinked again, still half asleep, and turned his head so he was looking out over the tent. 

“Where’d Fringilla go?” he asked, frowning, as he looked to Jon. 

“She had some business to attend to,” Jon said absently as he shifted Jaskier’s shirt up so he could access the wounds on his back. “I’m the one to keep you company until Cahir returns.”

Jaskier gave a weak smile at that, relieved that it was Jon. Jon just ran light fingers over the wounds, murmuring to himself. 

“It’s healing…but it’s going to hurt to move for a while,” Jon informed Jaskier as he fixed Jaskier’s shirt, helping him to roll over and carefully sit up, watching as Jaskier winced and paled at the movement. 

“There we go,” Jon murmured, smiling reassuringly at Jaskier. “Now, let’s get some food and water into you. You did lose a fair a bit of blood early this morning.”

Jaskier shrugged, regretting the movement instantly, before taking the plate Jon offered. Jon leaned back on the palms of his hands, watching as Jaskier practically inhaled the meal of bread and meats and the water. 

They sat in silence for a while as Jaskier let the food settle. 

Finally the silence got too much for him and he looked up at Jon, frowning.

“How’d you end up here, Jon?” Jaskier asked quietly. “How’d you end up with the Nilfgaard?”

Jon gave a wry smile as he looked at Jaskier. “I was born in Nilfgaard, Jaskier. I am Nilfgaardian,” he answered with a smile. 

“But…why are you here?” Jaskier asked, frowning. “Why are you with the army and not set up back in Nilfgaard? You don’t seem the sort to fight in wars.” 

Jon nodded slowly, giving a thoughtful hum, as he straightened up, crossing his legs and turning his gaze to Jaskier. 

“When the Usurper came and took power in Nilfgaard, after murdering our King, I was brought into the castle as a healer in training, still a teenager,” Jon explained slowly, carefully choosing his words. “He was a ruthless leader, not caring about those who served under him, whether it be the mage, the staff or even the healers.” 

Jaskier frowned at that, watching as Jon’s bright green eyes dulled. 

“I was just a training healer at the time, but I was forced to treat the wounds of those he had hurt, who had been punished, for sport, for game, to instil his power over everyone else,” Jon continued. “Then my mentor stood up against him…and he was killed in front of me. I was suddenly the head healer, taking on all of the duties of healing in the castle…which was when I met Cahir, but that’s another story,” Jon murmured suddenly. 

“I was close to breaking. I wanted to be a healer to help people, to make a difference, not so I could patch up the wounded that our supposed King hurt. He was meant to be our King, he was meant to protect us…but he didn’t. We were just his slaves, his playthings.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened at the bitterness of that word, the way that Jon’s eyes shuttered slightly, a darkness creeping into them.

“Jon,” Jaskier breathed. Jon just shook his head, swallowing harshly and taking in a deep breath. Some of the light returned to his green eyes as he turned his gaze back onto Jaskier.

“Then came the White Flame, our rightful Emperor, who killed the Usurper. He freed us from the pain, from the slavery,” Jon continued with a small smile. “He made sure we were taken care of…and when he offered me this opportunity to come, to assist Cahir in his mission, I couldn’t refuse him. I could help our men in the way I was taught, to make sure they survived to come home. It was an honour I couldn’t refuse, not to the Emperor who saved us.”

Jaskier gave a small nod, looking away. 

So Jon just wanted to help, but he was loyal to Nilfgaard. There was no way that Jon would help him, to betray the Emperor who apparently freed and saved him. 

Part of him did feel for Jon though. He could just imagine the bright-eyed teenager wanting to do good, to help save people, before being broken down…the light and hope fading from the green eyes.

Jaskier swallowed deeply, pushing that thought from his head. He couldn’t bring himself to respect the Nilfgaard Emperor, no matter the reason. All he did was create fanatics and release them into the Continent.

“What about you, Jaskier?” Jon asked, startling Jaskier from his thoughts. “How did a humble bard end up following the Witcher across the continent?” 

Jaskier gave a small smile at that and launched into the tale, of seeing the brooding Witcher in the corner of that small inn in Posada. 

He did trail off as he got to the events at the mountain, finding it just a bit too raw still. Jon seemed to understand, though he frowned.

“Is that where you and the Witcher parted?” he asked gently, carefully. 

Jaskier winced but nodded. “It was not a pleasant goodbye,” he admitted. 

“If the Witcher has hurt you so, Jaskier, then why risk what you did last night?” Jon asked him quietly. “Why allow the witch to escape to protect him?”

Jaskier gave an empty smile, pain echoing within his soft blue eyes. “Because he’s _my_ friend…no matter what.”

Jon stared at him a moment before his face went serious and leaned forward, looking at Jaskier with his green eyes intent. 

“Jaskier,” Jon started, voice low and quiet and serious. “I know you might hope that the Witcher stays away, though I think a part of you hopes that he’ll come to rescue as well.”

Jaskier frowned at Jon, but remained quiet, unsure where he was going with this. 

“If he doesn’t come, Jaskier, you do realise that you won’t be released,” Jon continued. “I am not sure of the plans for your fate are yet, but you won’t be let go. From what I’ve heard, you will be sent away, to be kept for future use…but it doesn’t have to be as a prisoner, Jaskier, you can join us.”

Jaskier shook his head, giving a small smile. “You know I can never do that, Jon.”

Jon sighed and nodded, also giving a smile. “I know, Jaskier, but I had to try.”

Jaskier nodded before sighing heavily, shifting to lay back down on his side, curling his legs up towards his chest as much as he was able without it hurting, tucking his hands under his face.

Suddenly his future, or lack of, had suddenly hit him. He was never going to be free again. He was never going to be able to travel, to play his lute and spread his music. He was never going to travel with Geralt again nor teach at Oxenfurt. 

“Jaskier, what is it?” Jon asked quietly, reaching out to run his fingers through Jaskier’s tousled hair, smoothing it out. 

“I just want to go home,” Jaskier whispered, holding back a sob as he curled up tighter. “I just want to go home.”

“And where is home for you?” Jon questioned quietly, soothingly, as he stroked Jaskier’s hair. “Where is the place you call home?”

Jaskier gave a slightly hysterical laugh. “I don’t know,” he admitted, shocking himself. He truly didn’t know.

“What about where you grew up?” Jon asked, trying to keep the conversation going, to keep Jaskier calm. 

“Lettenhove?” Jaskier questioned with a small, bitter laugh. “Not since I was disowned, no.”

“Where else have you spent time?” Jon continued to ask. “I did hear that you taught…it was Oxenfurt, wasn’t it? I know there were scouts sent there to look for you.”

Jaskier thought about Oxenfurt, the hustle and bustle of the town, the gorgeous campus there. He also remembered that Valdo Marx was there, and of the mutters that followed him. 

He thought of Geralt, of following him around the Continent. He remembered the nights in the forests and the inns, just him and Geralt. Jaskier would be strumming something on his lute by the firelight while Geralt sat there, cleaning his armour or sharpening swords.

It was freedom. It was peace.

It was home.

“I don’t know,” Jaskier just whispered again, gaining a small, understanding nod from Jon as Jon continued to stroke his hair comfortingly. Jaskier closed his eyes, trying to take the comfort that was being offered. 

When Cahir walked in hours later, as the sun was setting, Jaskier was sitting up once more, talking with Jon. Jon looked up as Cahir entered, giving a nod when he saw the look on Cahir’s face.

“Talk to you tomorrow, Jaskier,” Jon said lightly as he got to his feet. Jaskier sighed but nodded, watching as his one ally in this whole forsaken camp walked away. Jon nodded to Cahir before he ducked out of the tent. 

Jaskier watched as Cahir walked around the tent, looking over some papers before he settled down to sit on his cot, frowning as he looked over some report. Jaskier just absently drew patterns on the soft furs, bored. 

“What did Jon say about your back?” Cahir asked suddenly, startling Jaskier.

“Uh, it’s healing?” Jaskier said, unsure. Cahir just nodded and went back to reading his reports. 

It fell back into silence that remained even after they had eaten the nightly meal. Jaskier curled back up on his furs, closing his eyes as Cahir stood up to get changed, uncaring that Jaskier was in the tent with him. 

Jaskier waited until the lamps were off and everything was silent before he opened his eyes again. He looked over at the cot Cahir was lying upon, frowning. He lay stock still on his furs, barely breathing as he listened to Cahir’s breathing. 

He had to get out of here. He couldn’t let Geralt come and be captured…and he couldn’t allow himself to be used as a bargaining chip for as long as Nilfgaard had him, to become a pet, a slave. 

Once Cahir’s breathing had evened out and became heavy, soft snores accompanying every breath, Jaskier struggled to push himself to his feet as quietly as he could, gritting his teeth against the pain flaring up in his back. 

Jaskier crept towards the tent flap, keeping his footsteps light and silent as he moved. He quietly lifted the tent flap, swallowing a moan of pain, before he ducked outside. Jaskier moved quickly, as quickly as his back let him, hurrying towards the forest. 

He didn’t remain unspotted for long, even within the silent camp.

“OI!”

Jaskier ran.

Geralt stared at Yennefer, still clutching Jaskier’s bloodied and dirty doublet tightly in his hands.

“Yennefer, where did you get this?” he asked, a low growl lacing his words. Yennefer just matched his glare, her spine straightening.

“Why wasn’t the bard with you?” she questioned him instead. “Usually he’s like a burr, stuck to your side…so tell me, Geralt, why wasn’t Jaskier by your side like the loyal puppy he is?” 

Geralt gritted his teeth, amber eyes burning. “There isn’t time, Yennefer!”

“Tell me, Geralt!”

“I haven’t seen him since the mountain!” Geralt snarled. “Same as you! I told him it was his fault, I told him that if life could give me one blessing, it would be to take him off of my hands.”

Yennefer’s eyes went cold at that. 

“You got your wish then,” she said, voice chillingly cold, as Ciri looked in between the two of them, eyes wide. 

“I didn’t mean it, Yen,” Geralt breathed, shoulders slumping. “I-I didn’t…I didn’t mean it…but when I tried to find him, he was gone…and then things happened and I couldn’t look for him anymore.”

Yennefer sighed as Geralt looked back up at her, looking much like a kicked puppy himself.

“Where is he, Yen?”

Yennefer sat down on a nearby log, gesturing for Geralt to do the same. Geralt reluctantly did so, still clutching Jaskier’s doublet. Ciri quickly shifted over to curl into his side. Geralt wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close and letting her curl into his side.

“Nilfgaard have him,” Yennefer admitted, not bothering to sugar-coat it. “They knew he was your bard and sent scouts to retrieve him. I heard about it and went to see if I could rescue him…and I failed.”

“Yen…”

Yennefer shook her head, silencing him. 

“I had managed to free him from his shackles and we were close to getting out of the Nilfgaard camp, but we were discovered by the commander, Cahir, and Fringilla and her mages,” Yennefer explained. “Cahir gave me Jaskier’s doublet, told me to give it to you as a message, but that wasn’t my plan. I was trying to figure out a way for both of us to escape when Jaskier grabbed my bodice…he told me to keep you safe and then the brave fool tackled Cahir, giving me time to escape.”

Geralt snarled under his breath, shaking his head. Ciri just hugged him tighter.

“The fool,” he hissed, though Yennefer could detect the undercurrent of pain and worry in his voice. Geralt swallowed, looking up at Yennefer. “Was he hurt?” he asked gruffly. 

“Bruised and dishevelled when I saw him,” Yennefer admitted. “A little frightened because of Fringilla tormenting him, but he was still strong and annoying as ever. You’d be proud of him, Geralt, he is as loyal and as brave as one could be.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow at that. 

“I thought you didn’t like him,” Geralt said with a small smirk. 

Yennefer gave an exaggerated sigh. “He gets under one’s skin, like an annoying puppy. Annoying, but something cute and adorable about it.” 

Geralt nodded, looking down at the blue doublet again, running his thumbs over the soft, stained material. He looked up Yennefer, resolved.

“Where is he, Yennefer? Where is the Nilfgaard camp?” Geralt asked as he stood, gathering his swords.

“As much as my plan was to grab you and then go wreak havoc on the Nilfgaard camp and free the bard, we can’t do that now,” Yennefer said, folding her arms across her chest.

“Yennefer!” Geralt turned to her, growling. “There’s no time!”

“I wondered why they wanted you, but now I see,” Yennefer said, continuing on calmly like Geralt hadn’t interrupted, nodding to Ciri. “They want her, don’t they?” 

“What of it?” Geralt growled protectively, hands tightened around his sword bag. 

“Well, we can’t exactly go waltzing into the Nilfgaard camp with the one thing they want now, can we?” Yennefer said, arching an eyebrow at Geralt in disbelief. “We need to plan now. We need to plan how to keep your child surprise safe while we go to Jaskier.”

“There’s no time to plan!” 

Yennefer just fixed the worried, irate Witcher with a steely, disapproving gaze. “They’ve kept him alive, Geralt, because he’s useful. They know I have his doublet and would have come to warn you. They’ll keep him alive because they _need_ him, Geralt. They need him to get to you.”

Geralt bared his teeth as he paced agitatedly in front of the fire. Ciri looked up at Geralt, biting her lip. 

“Geralt, if we have to save your friend…I-I can go,” Ciri said, though her nerves were betrayed as her voice shook.

“No,” Geralt and Yennefer both stated at the same time. Yennefer frowned suddenly, looking to Ciri as Geralt resumed his pacing, looking very much liked a caged wolf. 

“Why are they after you?” Yennefer asked Ciri curiously. Ciri looked to Geralt, who had paused for a moment before he resumed his pacing. 

Well, if Geralt trusted her…there was no reason for her not to, was there? Besides, she had dreamed about Yennefer.

“I-I have a power,” Ciri stammered. “It’s one I can’t control…but they know about it and they want me.”

Yennefer hummed. She had sensed the Chaos surrounding the young girl, but many had that…they just didn’t know how to channel it and then it just wasted away. 

So the girl had powers…one that apparently needed to be trained.

A thought suddenly came to mind at that. An idea of where to send Ciri while she and Geralt went to save Jaskier. 

“I know what to do, Geralt,” Yennefer announced, watching as Geralt stopped, turning to face Yennefer. “But I need to organise a few things if it’ll work. Have any parchment?”

“Here!” Ciri piped up, diving towards the saddle bags laying on the ground. She quickly dug through one, pulling out paper and a charcoal pencil. Ciri quickly hurried to Yennefer’s side, holding them out. 

“Thank you, little one,” Yennefer said as she took the paper and the pencil, quickly scribbling down notes on two separate pieces. She folded them up and wrote the names upon them before concentrating on them.

Ciri watched with wide eyed wonder as the two letters suddenly rippled and disappeared into thin air. Yennefer smiled at her before turning her attention back to Geralt, seeing the frown gracing his lips and the deepened lines around his eyes, showing his worry and concern.

“We’re going to get him back, Geralt,” she assured him. “Once Cirilla is safe, we’ll go and rescue him. They won’t kill him, Geralt, they need him. For now though, I just need to wait for the replies so I can figure out our next step, but that won’t take long.”

Geralt nodded, sitting down again with a heavy sigh. Ciri stayed by Yennefer’s side, knowing Geralt needed a moment, and began peppering her with questions.

Geralt stared into the flame. 

He didn’t want to be sitting here, his nerves were all on edge, screaming him to leap up, jump onto Roach and ride hard to go rescue Jaskier…but as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t risk Ciri. 

Guilt twisted deep in his stomach. 

If he had never yelled at Jaskier, if he hadn’t said those things to him on the mountain, then Jaskier would have been by his side. He would have been safe. 

Geralt closed his eyes, bowing his head.

_I’m coming, Jaskier,_ he swore silently. _I’m coming. Don’t stop fighting yet._

Jaskier ran through the camp, stumbling towards the forest as the shouts went up as his escape attempt was noticed. Pain tore through his back, making him pant raggedly, his vision swimming, but he kept running.

He needed to get away. 

Jaskier had just managed to clear the edge of the camp when he was tackled, a ragged, angry scream erupting from within him as his escape attempt was thwarted. More bodies leapt on top of him, holding him down, throwing punches now they could take that chance. 

Soon, Jaskier was dragged up from the grass, bloodied from the punches and where his wounds had reopened on his back.

“Get him back to the commander!” someone ordered as he was held upright, barely able to support his own weight. 

Jaskier screamed out his frustration, writhing and struggling as he was dragged back towards the camp where Cahir was surely waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nice long chapter for all of your wonderful comments, I'm seriously absolutely blown away by the response I'm getting and I'm so grateful to read each and every comment!


	11. Plans

Jaskier was dragged towards back towards the camp, still fighting and swearing against the soldiers dragging him.

Cahir stood by his tent, arms crossed across his chest, watching as the still fighting bard was dragged towards him. The soldiers stopped in front of Cahir, who stepped forward to tilt Jaskier’s chin up. 

His gaze flickered across the blood trickling from Jaskier’s nose, to the gash across his forehead and the bruises quickly blossoming across the bard’s face. Cahir tsked disappointedly when he saw one of the bard’s eyes was slightly swollen from one of punches his soldiers had given him.

Cahir turned his attention to the soldiers holding Jaskier and to the ones standing behind. 

“Get a manacle sorted and somewhere secure to put it in my tent,” Cahir ordered them, reaching out to grasp the front of Jaskier’s shirt. Cahir yanked Jaskier from the soldiers’ grips, hearing the faint hiss of pain that Jaskier gave when he was jerked forward. Cahir spun him around, shoving him through the tent entrance. Cahir glanced at his hand when he felt something wet, seeing a faint smudge of blood upon the palm of the hand he’d just used to shove Jaskier through the tent.

“Get Jon,” Cahir threw back absently before he ducked into the tent. Clearly the bard’s back wounds had opened up with his foolish actions.

Jaskier stumbled into the tent as Cahir shoved him into the back. He stumbled towards the sturdy wooden pole in the middle of the tent, grabbing it and leaning against as he breathed raggedly, pain tearing through his back and the new wounds courtesy of the soldiers who had taken the opportunity to finally take some aggression out on the bard.

A yelp was torn from his throat as his shoulder was grabbed and he was spun around. Jaskier moaned, going pale, as his back was shoved against the rough wooden pole, scratching and irritating his back wounds. 

Cahir was leaning over him, taking advantage of the extra two inches he had on Jaskier to tower over the injured, pained bard. Cahir glanced down, seeing Jaskier’s knuckles were white with the force he was gripping the pole behind him, staring up at Cahir with wide eyes.

“Yet another foolish attempt,” Cahir murmured as he pinned the lean bard against the sturdy wooden pole. “What were you hoping to achieve, besides more pain and punishment, that is?”

“Getting away,” Jaskier hissed, glaring up at Cahir. Cahir gave a low chuckle, leaning more firmly against the bard and watching as he paled further from pain, watching as fear and uncertainty flickered within those crystal blue eyes. 

“You must know by that now that that isn’t happening,” Cahir told him quietly, eyes fixed firmly on Jaskier’s pale and bruised face. “I’ve received my orders. The Witcher has a week to turn up…if he does not, I have my orders to send you to Nilfgaard, to our Emperor.”

Jaskier paled further as he stared up at Cahir with wide eyes.

“W-What?” he stammered. “W-Why?”

“The White Flame has his reasons, but you will be going to Nilfgaard, to serve under him,” Cahir murmured, watching as Jaskier shook his head frantically, paling further – which Cahir was rather impressed with. He didn’t think Jaskier could get any paler. 

“A pity really,” continued Cahir, reaching up to grasp Jaskier’s chin, still pressed flush against the panicking bard. “I was looking forward to getting to finding out more about you…figuring out why you’re so _special_. I would’ve enjoyed getting under all of your layers, Jaskier, to figure out what truly makes you tick…” Cahir sighed and pulled back slightly, though he reached up to stroke his knuckles across Jaskier’s bruised cheek, making the bard flinch. 

“But, alas, I have my orders…and they must be followed,” Cahir said as he released Jaskier, watching as he slid down the pole to sit in a heap on the ground, trembling madly. “One week for the Witcher to come and meet our demands, or you go to Nilfgaard to serve our Emperor. You’ll be a wonder in the court.”

Jaskier swallowed deeply, heart still racing in his chest, feeling clammy and sweaty, as he looked up at Cahir.

“A-And if Geralt comes?” Jaskier couldn’t help but croak out. “What if he doesn’t meet your demands?”

“Then he becomes our captive too, or he dies…and you still go to Nilfgaard,” Cahir said simply, tilting his head as he regarded Jaskier. “You’ll look wonderful in the Nilfgaardian court clothes.”

Jaskier shuddered at that, burying his face into his hands to hide away from Cahir’s unnerving stare. 

“Commander,” Jon’s voice said, sounding somewhat worried. “I heard he tried to be foolish again.”

“Of course he did,” Cahir said, sounding amused. “I’m certain that the wounds on his back have opened again…and the soldiers took their chance to handle him roughly.”

“Of course they did,” sighed Jon. Gentle footsteps approached, signalling Jon’s approach, his footsteps much lighter compared to Cahir’s commanding march. 

Jaskier lifted his head as a hand rested upon it, seeing Jon crouched in front of him, looking very much like a disappointed big brother. 

“Come on,” sighed Jon, “let’s look over your new injuries.”

Jaskier winced, biting back a whimper of pain as Jon carefully helped him to his feet. 

“Easy now,” Jon murmured as he and Jaskier slowly walked back over to the pile of furs, with Jon carefully easing Jaskier down upon them. Jon kept Jaskier sitting up as he sat across from him. He reached up to gently prod Jaskier’s face, feeling the bruises and checking for any breaks. Jon hummed in satisfaction before reaching down to feel Jaskier’s sides, gently squeezing and feeling Jaskier’s ribs, watching his reactions. 

“No broken bones,” Jon informed Cahir. “Bruises and scrapes that will heal with times…as per the usual.”

Jon helped Jaskier shift so he was lying on his stomach. Jon sighed as he pulled up the back of the silent Jaskier’s shirt, seeing that the wounds had indeed reopened and were bleeding, though not as heavily as they had been when the injuries had been received.

Jaskier turned his head so he could watch Jon as Jon quietly cleaned up his back again. 

“What?” Jaskier asked, giving a weak smile. “No telling me I did something stupid?”

Jon paused briefly to give him an unimpressed look before he continued to clean the wounds on Jaskier’s back. 

“If you know that I’m going to tell you off, then you already know you’ve done something stupid,” Jon replied lightly. “And clearly you know if you’re expecting my reprimand.”

“Wasn’t stupid,” Jaskier grumbled into the furs. “Have to get away.”

He didn’t tell Jon about Cahir and how creepy he was, looming over him, pinning him against the pole…and of the words of wanting, longing and possession that Cahir had spoken.

A hand rested briefly on his shoulder before it disappeared.

Jon just finished up treating Jaskier’s back and rearranged the shirt back to cover the wounds. 

“Got the manacle, sir,” a soldier announced as he came into the tent. Cahir nodded, gesturing to Jaskier. 

“Go on then.”

Jaskier sighed, defeated, as he slumped into the furs. He remained still as Jon shifted out the way for the soldier, who knelt beside Jaskier. The soldier quickly clasped one end of the manacle cuff around Jaskier’s ankle, making sure it was fit snuggly so Jaskier couldn’t slip out, before he got up to fix the other end to the solid tent pole in the middle of the tent.

“He won’t be going anywhere soon, Commander,” the soldier said, smirking at Jaskier, who scowled into the furs. Cahir just held a hand out for the key to the manacle.

Jon gathered up his bag before he stood, going to walk over to Cahir’s side. Cahir glanced at Jaskier, who was watching them with narrowed eyes. Cahir just arched an eyebrow at him and Jaskier huffed, turning his head away, though Cahir’s sharp eyes detected a shudder as Jaskier did so. 

He turned his attention back to Jon, who was also watching Jaskier. 

“How’s his back?” Cahir asked, gaining Jon’s attention. Jon gave a small sigh, green eyes meeting Cahir’s sunken blues. 

“Some of the wounds re-opened on his back, which caused the bleeding,” Jon informed him quietly, “but they’ll heal. No sign of infection but I cleaned them out again and reapplied the salve that will prevent infections.”

Cahir nodded, glancing back over at the prone bard. 

"I wouldn't recommend any further punishments for him tonight," Jon said carefully. "He's already lost enough blood."

"His wounds and pain are punishment enough for this foolish misstep," Cahir agreed with a nod. "However, if he continues being foolish, he will be punished."

Jon nodded in agreement, looking to Jaskier for a moment, hesitating.

“Fringilla said we have new orders for him,” Jon said quietly, looking up at Cahir. 

“The Witcher has a week to give us the princess,” Cahir answered, turning to look at Jon. “If he does not come, or even if he does, Jaskier is to be sent to Nilfgaard at the end of next week. Fringilla will portal him over, just to ensure he arrives safely and in one piece for our Emperor.”

Jon frowned slightly at that, but he nodded.

“Any idea what the plans are for him in Nilfgaard?” Jon questioned. Cahir noted the worry in Jon’s green eyes, knowing Jon had a soft heart and that he worried…especially after the abuse he had faced in the hands of the Usurper.

“From what I’ve been told,” Cahir murmured. “He will serve our Emperor, in the court, probably as a bard. He is well known across the continent as the White Wolf’s bard and from his vast experiences playing in royal courts. To hear that he plays and sings for the White Flame may help turn other kingdoms to swear fealty to our Emperor.”

Jon nodded slowly, but didn’t look convinced. Cahir sighed, turning to face Jon, placing his hands on his shoulders.

“Jon, you are my friend,” Cahir said quietly. “I have known you since the Usurper was in power. You helped me with my wounds and I helped you when I could.”

Jon shuddered, but remained quiet, as he looked to Cahir, staring into his eyes. 

“Don’t question things too deeply, Jon,” Cahir murmured. “You may not like the answer and others may think you are being treasonous, questioning our Emperor.”

“I’m not,” Jon quickly breathed. “I wouldn’t…not after what he’s done to help us, to free us.”

“I know, Jon, I know you’re loyal…but I also know you care, deeply…especially for those who are a little pathetic and helpless,” Cahir smirked as he saw Jon’s eye roll.

“So what does that make you?” Jon asked, arching an eyebrow. Cahir chuckled lowly.

“Someone who has known you for a long time,” Cahir chuckled before turning serious, glancing at Jaskier as he shifted upon the furs. “You need to not let your heart into this one, Jon. It will only hurt you.”

Jon sighed but nodded. 

“I’ll call you when the fool does something foolish again,” Cahir said, lips twisting into a smirk. Jon rolled his eyes again but nodded. He headed towards the tent exit before pausing, looking back.

“Cahir?”

“Mm?” Cahir asked, looking at him. 

Jon gave a weak smile. “Thank you.”

Cahir nodded, watching as Jon left. He settled down to sit on his cot, facing Jaskier. Jaskier was still sprawled out on his stomach on the furs, though his head was turned away. Cahir frowned as his sunken eyes traced the long, lithe limbs sprawled out across the dark furs, to the silver manacle glinting around the supple dark leather of Jaskier’s boot, the chain running from the manacle to attach to the pole in the middle of the tent. 

Well, the bard certainly wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. No more night runs. 

Cahir leaned back as he heard Jaskier give a soft snore. 

It truly was a shame that he received the orders to send Jaskier to Nilfgaard. He was a little surprised to get the orders, though Fringilla looked smug about it. 

He truly did want to know more about the bard, to discover what truly made the bard who he was. What made him so special? What made him so damn brave and loyal?

What made a disowned Viscount want to be a bard that travelled the Continent with a Witcher?

Cahir desperately wanted to know why the Witcher kept him around, what made the loner monster hunter accept the bard. 

Cahir tilted his head at that thought, eyes drifting over Jaskier’s lean build again. 

He wanted to know what the Witcher had discovered about Jaskier…why Jaskier was so special. 

Cahir sighed, shifting to lay upon his cot, closing his eyes. 

There was something in him, deep within him, that was concerned about the reasons why the Emperor wanted Jaskier in Nilfgaard. Jaskier was just as useful if he remained here. He could still be used as blackmail as long as Cahir had him, but once he was in Nilfgaard…well, Cahir had a feeling that the Witcher wouldn’t be mounting a rescue in Nilfgaard for the bard. 

But Cahir was a soldier first and foremost. He was loyal to the Emperor, to the White Flame…and if the Emperor had decided that sending Jaskier to Nilfgaard was the best option, then Cahir would follow his orders. 

He was loyal to Nilfgaard…no matter how much the bard intrigued him.

Geralt looked up, sensing the ripple of magic. Yennefer plucked the two letters from the air, giving a nod as she read over them. 

“We’re about to have guests,” Yennefer informed them as she looked up. Geralt pulled Ciri closer to his side, keeping her close, not quite sure about Yennefer’s ‘ _guests_ ’. Ciri easily curled up against him, even against the firm leather armour. 

He looked to Roach, who stomped at the ground uneasily from where she was tied at the edge of their camp. Roach was always good at sensing things.

“Easy, Roach,” he reassured her, gaining a huff from her. 

Two portals came to life at the edge of their small clearing with figures stepping out from within them. Ciri clung onto Geralt tighter, uncertain, as three women stepped into the light cast by the fire, the portals dissipating behind them.

“Tissaia, I wasn’t expecting you,” Yennefer said as she got to her feet. A serious looking women with her brown hair pulled back tightly, stepped forward, smiling slightly.

“I was with Triss when she received your message,” Tissaia explained, her sharp green eyes sweeping across the clearing, settling on Ciri and Geralt. “It sounded serious and I had to make sure you were okay.”

Yennefer inclined her head as Geralt raised an eyebrow. 

If he didn’t know better he would say that Tissaia almost sounded… _motherly_ towards Yennefer. 

“Geralt!” came a pleasantly surprised voice, a slim woman with curly, bushy brown hair stepping closer and smiling warmly at him.

“Triss,” Geralt greeted. Tissaia looked to Triss with curiosity but said nothing, turning back towards Yennefer. Geralt’s gaze fell on the third silent women, a petite blonde.

“I don’t believe we’ve met before,” he said, amber eyes fixed on her. 

“Sabrina,” she introduced herself, head held high. Ciri peered out at them from her safe space under Geralt’s arm, noting the gazes that were on her.

Triss seemed nice enough and Sabrina was quiet, but Tissaia seemed so stern…like her Grandmother, Ciri thought with a pang in her heart. 

“What has happened?” Tissaia asked Yennefer. Yennefer looked to Geralt, purple eyes questioning and Geralt gave a slight nod of his head.

“I know the reason why Nilfgaard has attacked,” Yennefer told them. Triss reached up to touch the slight scarring on her chest, left from the attack on Sodden Hill. Even magic could only do so much if applied quickly, but Sabrina, Triss, Tissaia and Yennefer had all been drained and not at their best once they managed to get to safety. Yennefer had been unconscious, drained from her explosion of Chaos, with Tissaia still struggling to overcome the effects of dimeritium, while Sabrina had been badly injured from the explosion and the subsequent fall from the tower and Triss had been suffering with a severe burn to her chest.

No one had been in full power, able to help heal the others.

Tissaia struggled to summon up enough power to get them a portal to get them just far enough away so that they could all heal. 

“What is it?” Triss asked, looking concerned. Yennefer looked to Ciri, who quickly huddled under Geralt’s arm, hiding from their questioning gazes.

“This is Princess Cirilla,” Yennefer introduced, voice soft. “Don’t be afraid, Ciri, they won’t harm you.”

“Princess Cirilla…of Cintra?” Sabrina asked, eyes wide as she looked back to Ciri. “But…why do the Nilfgaard want her?”

Geralt looked to Ciri, gently nudging her chin and giving her a small nod when she looked at him.

“I-I have this power,” she managed to stammer out, trying to remain brave like her Grandmother told her, but she didn’t know these women. “I-I can’t control it…but it’s powerful…a-and it can be deadly.”

“Her mother, Pavetta, had the same abilities,” Geralt spoke up gruffly, all eyes turning to him.

“How do you know that?” Tissaia asked, her eyes boring into his. “No one knew what happened in the Cintran castle. There were questions about why they employed druids, but there was no whisper of magic.”

Geralt hummed. “Pavetta’s power came out the night of her betrothal, which I had attended, when her mother, Calanthe, attempted to kill the man she loved…a man who had just come and claimed the Law of Surprise that was owed to him, which was Pavetta.”

Everything was silent as all stared up at him, even Ciri, who hadn’t really heard this side of the story before. 

“It came out in her scream,” Geralt continued to explain. “It was a burst of power, throwing everyone back, shattering all of the windows, and it formed a whirlwind. I believe I heard her speaking Elder, but with the wind howling, I couldn’t quite pick it up. The whirlwind kept increasing, getting more dangerous, and Pavetta and Duny began to levitate.”

Triss, Sabrina and Yennefer were looking shocked. They had never heard of a power like this. Tissaia was just looking thoughtful.

“How did she break out of her trance?” Tissaia asked.

“Mousesack, a druid and a friend that served with Skellige, helped to slow the whirlwind while I used Aard to knock Pavetta down, which broke her from her trance,” Geralt explained, squeezing Ciri in comfort as he smelt a sharp tang of distress from her when he spoke of Mousesack. 

“Do we know where the power came from?” Tissaia continued to question as she settled to sit on a log by the fire. 

“Calanthe said that her mother had the power, but it had skipped her,” Geralt explained. Tissaia make look like a stern headmistress, but there was something about her that Geralt liked. She was no nonsense.

She reminded him a bit of Vesemir actually. 

“She had believed that it had also skipped Pavetta until that night,” Geralt continued, looking to Ciri, who shivered. Geralt reached over to grab his cloak, draping it over the small Princess, making her look even smaller dwarfed in his massive cloak. 

Tissaia turned her attention to Ciri as Triss and Sabrina moved to sit down next to Tissaia, knowing they were going to be here for a little while. Yennefer remained standing by the fire, arms folded across her chest. 

“When did your power reveal yourself?” Tissaia asked her, voice firm and steady, but not unkind. 

“W-When Cintra was attacked,” Ciri whispered, “when my Grandmother was sending me away to save me.” 

Tissaia frowned at that, but nodded thoughtfully, looking to Yennefer.

“None of this explains why you called for Triss’s and Sabrina’s help,” Tissaia pointed out. Yennefer sighed, shifting to sit beside Geralt, which surprised him. 

“Nilfgaard have taken a hostage,” Yennefer informed them, looking to Geralt, whose shoulders had stiffened, his posture going tense as he thought of Jaskier. “A…a friend of ours. A bard.” 

Triss looked to Geralt thoughtfully. “The bard that’s known for following you?” she inquired gently. “Jaskier, isn’t it?”

Geralt gave a stiff nod, his free hand clutching tightly on Jaskier’s doublet. 

“He has catchy songs,” Sabrina smiled sadly at Geralt. “I quite like his newest one… ‘ _Her Sweet Kiss_ ’ wasn’t it?” 

Geralt flinched slightly at that. He had heard that song in the weeks following the mountain. He had known that Jaskier had been working on it before the mountain, but after that incident on the mountain, the message of the song and the way it was sung was changed completely.

Geralt understood the message within it…the pain.

“When I heard that the Nilfgaard had him, I went to try see if I could rescue him,” Yennefer continued, purple eyes glancing at Jaskier’s doublet which Geralt was clutching onto like a lifeline. 

“I managed to get him…but then Fringilla and Cahir, the commander of the Nilfgaardian army, managed to cut us off,” Yennefer sighed, fingers splaying over the soft material of her skirt. “I was given Jaskier’s doublet and told to bring it to Geralt, to give him a message. I was told to bring Jaskier’s dirty doublet to Geralt, to tell him to come get Jaskier and to bring the princess.”

“Yen,” Triss whispered, horrified. Yennefer gave her a weak smile before she continued on with the story.

“I hadn’t planned on giving in, not wanting to give Fringilla the damn satisfaction…but Jaskier took the matter into his own hands, the brave, foolish puppy. He tackled the commander and told her to go, to keep Geralt safe.”

“Brave boy,” Tissaia murmured.

“What do you need us to do, Yen?” Sabrina asked, straightening up. Yennefer smiled at her, giving a thankful nod.

“Ciri needs to be protected while Geralt and I go and rescue our bard,” Yennefer said, leaning forward and clasping her hands together.

“ _Our_ bard?” Geralt rumbled, amused. Yennefer shot him a look.

“He’s mine too now,” she growled at him, gaining a small smile from Geralt. “I owe the bard.” 

Yennefer looked back to Tissaia, who looked amused as she looked between Geralt and Yennefer. Yennefer fixed her face back into her usual expression, one that usually sent mere men running for the hills. 

“Ciri needs the best protection, to stop the Nilfgaard from getting her if something that happens to Geralt and myself…and you are the only ones I trust,” Yennefer told them. “You’re the only ones who can stand up to Fringilla.”

“I’d prefer to take her to Kaer Morhen…but there isn’t time,” Geralt said. He knew Kaer Morhen was the safest place for her. No one could get into the fortress unless they knew how to...and Vesemir, Lambert and Eskel would fight to the death to protect their home. But there really wasn't time. After Jaskier was safe...then Geralt would take them home.

“Where would we take her?” Sabrina questioned. “Aretuza?”

“No,” Yennefer said quickly and firmly. Tissaia nodded in agreement. 

Though she was still Rectoress of Aretuza, she wouldn’t trust many of the Brotherhood if they caught whiff of Ciri, knowing that Princess of the fallen Cintra was there. They were the ones who voted to let Cintra fall, to leave Ciri an orphan.

Tissaia wouldn’t trust them with her. 

“She wouldn’t be safe there,” Tissaia agreed. “You know what happened on the vote before Sodden,” she kept it vague, not to let Ciri know that these people voted against saving her home, her family. 

“If Stregobor finds out about her…well, I have a feeling Fringilla would find out and that Stregobor wouldn’t hesitate to hand Ciri over if it meant the survival of Aretuza and Ben Ard.” 

Geralt stiffened, lips drawing back to bare his teeth in a snarl.

“Ciri goes nowhere near Stregobor,” he snarled warningly, amber eyes flashing dangerously. 

“You know of him?” Tissaia asked, intrigued. Geralt gave a bitter smile.

“It’s because of him I have the title of Butcher,” he spat. “I warned him not to touch Renfri’s body, to experiment on her…and he turned the people of Blavikin against me.”

“Sounds like him,” Sabrina muttered disgustedly. “He’s a bastard.” 

“No, we have to remain off the grid, hidden away,” Tissaia agreed. 

“I may have a place,” Triss spoke up, sounding thoughtful. “I still have a protected property near Temeria. It’s in the woods, hidden by a multitude of spells. If the three of us are with Ciri, there’s no way that anyone should get near us.” 

Geralt looked to Ciri, who looked up and him and gave a small nod, trying to smile reassuringly at him. 

“Geralt and I will meet you there after we have Jaskier,” Yennefer informed them. “We’ll jump a few times to throw Fringilla off our trail and to make sure Jaskier is okay.” 

“Ciri?” Geralt asked her quietly as Yennefer stood up to go talk to Triss, Sabrina and Tissaia. “Are you okay with this? Will you be okay?” 

Ciri nodded, looking at the four talking on the other side of the fire. 

“I trust Yennefer…” Ciri said, sounding surprised that she even said that, “and I like Triss, she seems nice.” 

“She is,” Geralt agreed, reaching up to brush a strand of hair out of Ciri’s face. “Yennefer and I will come for you as soon as it’s safe…and then we’ll head to Kaer Morhen. You’ll be more than safe there.”

Yennefer glanced over at Geralt, seeing he was talking quietly to Ciri. The sight of him looking so soft and gentle with the Princess made her tilt her head thoughtfully. She hadn’t really seen him that soft before, even after their more passionate moments. 

“I should come with you,” Tissaia spoke up suddenly, quietly in her ear. “You’re strong, Yennefer, but you may need the help.”

Yennefer shook her head, looking to Tissaia. “It won’t be like at Sodden, not a battle,” Yennefer murmured. “We just need to get Jaskier and portal out…but if something does happen, if we are not successful, then Ciri needs the strongest trio from Aretuza to keep her safe, to help her train her powers.”

Tissaia searched Yennefer’s face for a moment before she gave a soft sigh and nodded, also looking to Geralt and Ciri.

“How did the Witcher end up with the Princess anyway?” Tissaia asked curiously. 

“Apparently she’s his Child of Surprise,” Yennefer said, giving a small huff of laughter. “Destiny has a weird sense of humour.”

Tissaia gave a hum of agreement before she turned back to converse with Triss and Sabrina before they were shyly joined by Ciri. 

Geralt watched as Ciri went to go speak to the sorceresses, watching as Triss smiled and warmly greeted her, inviting her to sit next to her. Ciri sat down beside her, still swamped in Geralt’s large cloak, staring up at Triss in wonder.

Geralt sighed, looking back at Jaskier’s doublet. He ran his thumb over the soft material, over the blood stains, which threw up a weak copper scent. Even though things were getting planned, and everything was getting sorted out…but it still felt like everything was going too slow and that it wasn’t enough. 

“Hang on, Jask,” Geralt murmured, fingers drifting over the material again, stirring up faint traces of Jaskier’s scent, which made Geralt’s stomach twist again in guilt.

People always said that Witchers didn’t feel…but that wasn’t true. Geralt was feeling the guilt twist his stomach, the fear and worry for his friend making his heart speed up just that little bit more. 

“I’m coming for you, Jask, just hang on…just a bit more, just a bit longer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was a hard chapter to write, so hopefully it turned out okay.
> 
> They're coming, Jaskier! :D


	12. What's the point?

“How’s your horse going to go with a portal?” Yennefer asked suddenly, making Geralt turn from where he was securing the saddlebags on Roach’s back. He looked to Yennefer, who just arched an eyebrow in question before Geralt looked back to Roach, running a hand down her neck and meeting her eye. Roach just stomped against the ground, making Geralt smile slightly, patting her neck.

“She’ll be fine,” Geralt assured her, looking back to Yennefer.

“Roach can take anything,” Ciri piped up with a grin. Yennefer shrugged, looking unconvinced, but twisted to look at Triss, who breathed in and nodded. 

“Easy, Roach, easy,” Geralt murmured to her as Roach shifted nervously as Triss summoned a portal. Ciri gripped Geralt’s free hand, watching as Tissaia, Sabrina and Yennefer stepped through the portal. 

“Your turn,” Triss said, not taking her eyes off of the portal. “Hurry now.”

Geralt tightened his grip on Roach’s reins, and on Ciri’s hand, as he led them both through the portal. 

He blinked as they came through on the other side, a cool breeze brushing against them. 

“This is pretty,” Ciri breathed from beside him. “I wasn’t expecting it to look like this.”

“Why, thank you,” Triss said from behind them as she stepped through. “I have an affinity when it comes to nature.”

Geralt grunted in agreement as he moved forwards towards the safe house.

It was a decent sized cottage nestled within the lush forest, surrounded by a multitude of different, brightly coloured flowers and herbs. All of the colours even brighter within the light of the rising sun.

Geralt led Roach to a patch of lush grass, tying her reins firmly to a nearby tree. He gently stroked her nose as she headbutted his chest.

“I’m going to get him back,” Geralt murmured to her. “You watch over Ciri for me until I get back, hmm?” 

Roach snorted at him, making Geralt smile, before he turned to Ciri, who was thoroughly investigating the garden with Triss beside her, already teaching her the different flower and herb names and what they were most useful for. 

“Wards are secure,” Tissaia announced as she strolled towards them with Sabrina beside her. Yennefer nodded from where she was standing beside the cottage, frowning.

“Geralt?” she questioned. Geralt nodded, turning back to Roach. He looked through one of the saddlebags, fingers drifting over the different vials. He grabbed a couple, some to help enhance his senses, others for healing purposes, and safely tucked them into his armour. 

“Don’t let them go searching in this bag,” Geralt muttered to Roach, who snorted once again. Ciri came over to stand by his side as he checked his swords before he secured his silver one to Roach, not needing it for battle against men, before he sheathed his other sword on his back. Geralt turned to Ciri, who stared up at him with wide blue eyes. He placed a hand on her shoulder.

“You’ll be safe here,” Geralt told her. “They’ll protect you…and you might learn some interesting new things. Just don’t let them touch my things.”

Ciri laughed and nodded. “I promise I won’t…but you gotta teach me how to use a sword when you come back.”

“I promise, little one,” Geralt chuckled. “You’ll learn that and more when we go to Kaer Morhen…but for now, these Mages can help you.”

Ciri nodded again before she threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. Geralt wrapped an arm around her, the other coming up to cup the back of her head. 

“Rescue your friend,” she murmured. “He needs you more, Geralt.”

Geralt’s arm tightened around her for a moment at her words before he sighed, releasing her. 

“Ciri, sweetheart, do you want some breakfast?” Triss called, smiling sadly. “It’s time for Yennefer and Geralt to go.” 

Ciri nodded, looking back up at Geralt, jaw set and eyes firm.

“You’ve got to come back, Geralt,” she told him. “Promise me.”

“I promise, Princess,” Geralt smirked softly at her stubborn, demanding tone. “Now, go on, go help Triss.”

Ciri nodded once again before she darted off to Triss’s side. Triss looked at him, giving a small, reassuring nod, before she ushered Ciri inside with Tissaia and Sabrina. 

Yennefer sauntered over to stand by Geralt’s side.

“She’ll be safe here,” she murmured, seeing Geralt was still staring at the cottage. 

“I know,” Geralt sighed slightly, readjusting his armour. “We should get going.”

Yennefer nodded before she turned, conjuring a portal. She and Geralt stepped into it, coming out into yet another set of woods. Geralt growled, turning to her.

“Where are we, Yen?” he growled. “This doesn’t look like a Nilfgaardian camp to me.”

“I had to portal us a distance away or Fringilla will know,” Yennefer told him, arching an unimpressed eyebrow. “We should get there by nightfall.”

Geralt sighed, adjusting the strap for the sheath on his back. 

“We better get moving then,” he said, ignoring as Yennefer rolled her eyes. They set off, walking towards the Nilfgaardian camp. 

Yennefer kept shooting him looks as they walked.

“What?” he growled at her, shooting her an annoyed glare. 

“I’m just watching your jaw clench,” Yennefer said simply. “You’re worrying, Geralt.”

“Jaskier’s in danger, Yen,” Geralt hissed. “He’s surrounded by soldiers and I don’t know what state I’m going to find him in…if he’s alive at all.” 

“He’s alive, Geralt,” Yennefer told him firmly. “Nilfgaard need him alive. He’s their bargaining chip.” She hesitated for a moment before sighing. “They might have roughed him up. He might be injured…but he’ll be alive, Geralt. We’ll get him out and we’ll make sure he’s okay, ready to annoy us all to death yet again.” 

Geralt exhaled slowly. 

“I’m…sorry, Yen,” he muttered. “I’m just…”

“You’re worried for him,” Yennefer finished, smiling sadly. “I get it, Geralt, I do. There’s a reason I chose to call him ‘puppy’ you know…besides the fact that it suits him far too well.”

“And that is?” Geralt asked, raising an eyebrow, amber eyes amused. 

“You’re the Wolf, Geralt,” Yennefer said, her dark painted lips twisting into a smirk. “Why do you think I call him a puppy? Because he’s yours.”

“He’s…he’s not mine,” Geralt managed to get out, shocked, pausing for just a moment as they walked. 

“He’s _your_ bard, your _friend_ ,” Yennefer listed, her purple eyes shining with amusement. “He bounces after you…and you allow it, even if you begrudgingly allowed it to begin with. You protect him, make sure he’s fed and cared for…just as a wolf would care for their pup.” 

Geralt just shook his head, making Yennefer laugh. 

“You might not see it, but it’s true,” Yennefer continued. “No matter what this thing is in between you two, you both need each other.”

Geralt closed his eyes briefly at that.

“We’re going to get him back, Geralt,” Yennefer promised. “I will burn that camp down and Nilfgaard down to bring Jaskier home.” 

“As will I,” Geralt promised darkly, voice rumbling and low. 

Jaskier groaned as he woke up, his whole body aching and sore from the beating he had received, and his back burning as he shifted, the wounds pulling with the movement.

“You’re awake,” Cahir’s smug voice said, which made Jaskier groan louder, trying to bury his face into the furs under him.

“Wish I was dead,” Jaskier muttered into the fur. “Actually, wish you were dead…” he said even quieter so Cahir didn’t hear him. 

“Get up, Bard,” Cahir ordered. “Since you can’t be trusted, you get to spend all day by my side. No Jon keeping you company today.”

Jaskier exhaled before he carefully shifted his arms to beside his shoulders, palms down, so he could oh-so carefully push himself up, wincing as the wounds on his back shifted further, dull bursts of pain flaring through the wounds with each movement. 

Breathing slightly heavier, Jaskier managed to manoeuvre himself into a sitting position, face paled from the pain. 

Still, Jaskier thought, the pain was slightly better than the day previous…even if the wounds had been reopened the night before. 

He looked to the tent entrance as a soldier ducked in, walking over to Cahir and handing him a plate. Cahir nodded, accepting the plate, before the soldier stalked over to Jaskier and thrust the plate at Jaskier. Jaskier quickly took it before the soldier dropped it, cradling the plate close. The soldier just quickly turned on heel and stalked out of the tent.  
Jaskier turned his attention to the plate in front of him, stomach grumbling as he looked at the different variety of fruit upon it. 

Well, at least Cahir didn’t feel like punishing him by taking his food away, which Jaskier was grateful for. He already felt weakened from the injuries he had received and from the never-ending anxiety and tension. He didn’t need to be left even weaker from lack of food and water on top of the blood loss. 

Jaskier quickly ate the breakfast he was given, setting the plate aside, and turning his gaze to Cahir, who had also finished and was now reading over some papers. Jaskier gave a soft exhale of breath, squirming slightly on the furs.

Cahir glanced up at Jaskier, seeing the bard’s blue eyes were distant, lost in thought, though the thumb on Jaskier’s right hand was rubbing circles against his fingers. 

A nervous habit the bard had, Cahir noted. It was something he had noticed the bard did as a nervous tick, when he was anxious and just needed something to do with his hands. 

Cahir gave a low hum in his throat as he went back to reading the reports. 

He would need to keep a closer eye on Jaskier. If he was deep in thought and anxious about something, then surely he was planning something foolish again. 

Jaskier was lost in thought of plans to escape, of Geralt, of Yennefer, of his own future when Cahir walked over to him, breaking him out of his thoughts. 

In a way he was grateful, his thoughts had been spiralling into something more morbid, especially as he thought upon his future, or lack thereof, and the plans for him in the Nilfgaardian Kingdom. 

Jaskier looked up to Cahir, sighing when he saw a familiar pair of shackles hanging in his grasp. 

Cahir just looked at him, unimpressed, until Jaskier sighed once again, relenting and offering up his wrists. 

“Good choice,” Cahir said as he locked the shackles around his wrists. Jaskier watched with wary eyes as Cahir crouched down to unlock the manacle around Jaskier’s ankle. “Get up,” ordered Cahir as he stood up. “I have work to do.”

Jaskier bit back the retort right at the tip of his tongue, instead forcing himself to stand, though his legs shook weakly under him as he finally managed to get upright, breathing heavily. 

“Come on.”

Jaskier threw Cahir a scathing look but limped after him, trying to keep his back as rigid as possible as not to pull at his wounds. 

He followed after Cahir as Cahir did his rounds, checking on everything, ignoring the looks and snickers he got, clenching his jaw when he saw the smirks directed at his bruised and partly swollen face. 

Jaskier found himself standing in the corner of the command tent, staring out of the large open side and across the camp, not paying attention as Cahir and Fringilla spoke and planned their next move.

He didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to hear them plan something that would take the lives of innocents. 

A flicker of movement caught his eye and Jaskier looked to the side, about ten tents away, seeing a pair of scouts had just returned from whatever mission they had been sent on.  
He straightened when he watched them dismount their horses, talking to the soldiers who had come to greet them. He watched as they walked away, leaving their horses loosely tied to a nearby tent. 

Jaskier stared at the horses, hope coursing through his veins. He might not be able to get away on foot…but if he got to one of the horses, there was a chance he could get away. 

Jaskier glanced to Cahir and Fringilla, seeing they were still engrossed in the map they were poring over. 

Swallowing deeply, trying to keep himself calm so he didn’t give himself away, Jaskier slowly edged out of the tent. As soon as he was out of the tent, Jaskier quickened his footsteps, rushing towards the horses. 

Close…he was so close. 

“JASKIER!” came the enraged yell. 

Jaskier broke into a run, dodging the soldiers that lunged at him. 

The horses were about two tents away now. So close. Jaskier could almost taste the freedom. He just had to leap onto one of them and get them running.

Jaskier was about to the horse when he ran into what felt like an invisible brick wall, which threw him backwards through the air. He hit the ground hard, the breath in his lungs leaving him in a rush. 

Jaskier rolled over, gasping and coughing for air, feeling as though his chest had been crushed. 

He groaned as he grabbed, hands yanking him up off the grass and into a kneeling position. Jaskier lifted his head, still gasping as he tried to regain his breath after being winded. Fringilla was striding towards him, smirking. 

Suddenly Jaskier understood what he had run into.

Fringilla had created a magical barrier which he had run right into. No wonder she looked so smug.

“Oh, you fucking bitch,” wheezed Jaskier. One of the soldiers threw a punch into Jaskier’s stomach.

“Watch your tongue!” the soldier snarled as the breath rushed from Jaskier once again, a trickle of acid bile clawing its way up Jaskier’s throat, making it burn, before trickling past his lips. 

“Get the bard to the commander,” Fringilla ordered, with a pleased looking smirk. “Commander Cahir is getting his punishment prepared.” 

Jaskier groaned as he was yanked to his feet, still struggling to regain his breath, before he was dragged back towards the command tent. Jaskier swallowed as he was dragged into the tent, seeing Cahir was pacing, a dark look on his face. 

“Get him on the table and hold him down,” Cahir ordered the soldiers as he swept the map and all of the markers off of the table with an angry brush of his arm. Jaskier immediately began to struggle harder, digging his heels into the ground. 

It made no difference as the soldiers were able to move the weakened bard to the table, throwing him upon it before they all rushed in, grabbing arms, legs and shoulders, pinning Jaskier down to the large wooden table on his back. 

Jaskier still struggled, heart racing in his chest. Cahir rounded the table to stand near Jaskier’s head, leaning over the panicking bard.

“I warned you, Bard,” Cahir hissed in his ear. “I warned you that if you tried something foolish like this again that you would be punished.”

Jaskier bared his teeth at him, struggling harder. “Let me go, you crazy fucker!” 

Cahir’s eyes just darkened further, his jaw setting into a hard line, before he straightened up and rounded the table.

Jaskier tried to break free of the ones holding him down, but he couldn’t break their grips. 

“W-What are you doing?” Jaskier cried out as his boots were wrenched off of his feet. 

“This will stop your idiotic attempts to keep running,” Cahir snarled. “Hold him down tighter. I don’t want him to move.” 

The weight holding Jaskier down to the large wooden table doubled and he whimpered as pain shot through him where they pressed down against the deep, dark bruises covering his skin, his back scraping against the wooden table top. 

There was a whistling sound and then a scream erupted from his lips when a red hot burning pain exploded against the bare skin of his underfoot. Jaskier arched his back as the bottom of his feet were hit again and again, though it was a bad move as pain also tore through his wounded back. 

“Stop!” Jaskier begged as the sensitive undersides of his feet burnt red hot with pain. “Please, please, stop!” 

Finally it did and Jaskier was released, though he could do little more than lay on the table, chest heaving as pained tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, head rolling to rest to one side. Cahir moved into the line of his sight, holding a bloodied switch. 

He handed it off to a soldier before turning his icy gaze onto Jaskier.

“I think we need to have a more in depth conversation,” Cahir said coldly as he reached forward, grabbing the front of Jaskier’s shirt and yanking him upright. He pulled Jaskier off the table and onto his beaten, bloodied feet. 

Jaskier cried out in pain, knees buckling under him. 

“Please, please,” Jaskier whispered desperately, unable to bear the pain of standing on his beaten feet. Cahir’s face just remained emotionless, eyes cold.

“Should have thought of that before you tried to run…again,” Cahir said coldly. Cahir transferred his grip onto the chain between Jaskier’s shackles. 

Jaskier hobbled after him as Cahir dragged him from the command tent, trying his hardest not to pass out from the pain as Cahir made him walk across the rough ground with his wounded feet. 

Cahir dragged him into his tent before he rounded on Jaskier, using the momentum to yank Jaskier forward and into the sturdy pole in the middle of the tent. Jaskier grabbed onto the pole with his bound hands, breathing raggedly, trying to take the weight off of his wounded feet. 

He barely had any time to catch his breath before Cahir spun him around, shoving his back against the wooden pole. Jaskier choked as Cahir’s hand suddenly wrapped around Jaskier’s throat, squeezing. Jaskier reached up with his bound hands, trying desperately to pull Cahir’s hand off of his throat.

“I warned you, Bard,” Cahir said, voice low and dangerous as his sunken blue eyes bore into Jaskier’s. “I warned you not to try anything foolish again or you would be punished…and look what you did.”

Jaskier glared at him, though it didn’t quite have the effect he was going for, seeing as he was pale, shaky and covered in a sheen of sweat. 

“Had to get away,” Jaskier struggled to get out. “I won’t go to Nilfgaard! I won’t serve your fucking crazy Emperor!”

Jaskier choked as the grip around his throat tightened to the point it was bruising and he couldn’t breathe. He struggled desperately, pulling weakly at Cahir’s wrist, trying to break his grip. Cahir was staring back, fury burning in his eyes. 

“Take care of how you speak, Bard,” Cahir snarled, low and threateningly. “You just need to be alive and relatively in one piece when you go to Nilfgaard. It does not mean I won’t break bones for you to learn respect. Maybe I'll have your legs broken next time you try to run or mouth off? You don't need them to play music.” 

Jaskier struggles became weaker as he struggled to get oxygen in past the strong grip on his throat. 

“You may intrigue me, _Jaskier_ ,” Cahir hissed as he released his bruising grip on Jaskier’s throat. Jaskier immediately fell to his knees, gasping for breath, his throat burning with each inhale as he reached up to touch his abused throat. “You may intrigue me, but I won’t tolerate any disrespect to myself, Nilfgaard or our Emperor.”

Jaskier looked up weakly at Cahir at that.

“I-I won’t go,” he managed to gasp out through his burning throat. 

“You have no choice,” Cahir stated coolly. “One week, Jaskier…and then you will serve Nilfgaard. What state you are in when you go depends on you.”

Jaskier shuddered, lowering his head. 

“Get into your corner,” Cahir ordered him. “Jon will come take care of your feet. I can't have you permanently crippled.” 

Cahir watched as Jaskier looked towards the pile of fur, uncertain. He hummed as he watched Jaskier shift onto all fours, carefully crawling towards the furs so he didn’t hurt his feet further. 

Jaskier slumped down onto the furs, sighing in relief as the pain in his feet eased from burning to throbbing, though his throat burnt every time he swallowed. 

Jon walked into the tent, having heard the talk that Jaskier had attempted to escape once again and had been caught and punished. 

Cahir was sitting on his cot, watching the figure in the corner, slumped down on the furs. 

“I heard he tried to run again,” Jon said lightly, gaining a hum from Cahir. 

“Just treat his wounds. No pain killers whatsoever, nothing to ease his pain,” Cahir ordered. Jon sighed at that but nodded, moving over to Jaskier’s side. He frowned as Jaskier made no move, made no sound, even when he knelt beside him. 

Jon pushed that thought aside for a moment. Jaskier was breathing, that was the most important thing at the moment, so Jon turned his attention to the wounds on the bottom of Jaskier’s feet. 

He winced when he saw the mangled mess of deep bruising, dark, raised welts and thin cuts covering the sensitive underside of Jaskier’s feet. 

It would certainly be painful…but there was nothing Jon could do about that. He had his orders.

So he cleaned up the wounds, glancing towards Jaskier when he heard the odd hiss of pain, watching as Jaskier’s legs tensed up from the pain.

Jon shifted so he could Jaskier’s face. Jaskier’s face was turned away, facing away from the rest of the tent, but he was conscious. Jon glanced over the injuries on Jaskier’s face, from the bruise adorning Jaskier’s cheekbone, the cut lip and the slightly swollen and bruised right eye. Jon frowned when he saw how empty and defeated Jaskier’s sky blue eyes looked.

Jon sighed softly, reaching out to gently stroke the back of Jaskier’s head, before he got his feet, his heart heavy.

Jaskier felt the brief touch on his head, knowing it was Jon, but he couldn’t bring himself to respond to the comfort that he knew Jon was trying to give.

He didn’t move when the manacle was fixed around his ankle again, no longer having the energy to do so. 

What was the point in trying to escape?

They were only going to catch him and hurt him more every time.

Jaskier closed his eyes, another despondent sigh ripping from his throat. 

It was time to give up. 

There was no chance of him escaping, of him being free again…so what was the point in trying?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a little bit hard for me last couple of days, so sorry if that reflected in Jaskier...
> 
> Thank you for all your comments, they've truly made me smile


	13. Geralt

Cahir kept a close watch on his prisoner over the next day, growing somewhat concerned when the usually lively, fidgety bard – who couldn’t go five minutes without shifting or making some sort of noise – lay flat on the furs, barely moving and not making a sound save for the odd, sharp exhalation of pain. 

He stood up and strode to the tent exit, beckoning for a nearby soldier, ordering some food and refreshment. The soldier snapped a sharp salute before he headed off on his task.  
Cahir frowned as he looked back into the tent, seeing Jaskier still hadn’t moved. He could see Jaskier was still breathing, could see the steady rise and fall of Jaskier’s back with every breath. 

The soldier soon returned with a plate of breads, fruits and meats, something simple yet filling and nourishing to eat. Cahir took it from him with a nod, watching as the soldier went back to his previous duties, before he himself walked back into the tent, allowing the heavy tent flap to close properly behind him. 

He walked over to Jaskier, stepping over the prone body to settle down next to the tent wall, just so he was sitting on the side that Jaskier’s head was turned. Jaskier’s blue eyes remained dull but they shifted to look at him.

“So you are awake,” Cahir mused as he placed the plate down on the furs. Cahir reached out, placing a hand on Jaskier’s forehead, humming to himself when he felt no fever. “And you don’t have a fever…so why haven’t you moved today? You haven’t been complaining either.”

Jaskier just blinked, staring up at Cahir. 

“No sassy remarks?”

Jaskier sighed heavily, blinking slowly. “Don’t feel like it.”

Cahir hummed again at that, concerned. It was no use if the bard gave up on life before his use was done. 

“Come now, Jaskier,” Cahir murmured, leaning forward. “Don’t tell me you’re giving up.”

“What’s the point?” Jaskier muttered as his eyes fluttered closed. “Gonna get caught and hurt again…s’no use.” 

Cahir frowned at that, going to reach out before he paused, pulling his hand back. 

“Don’t try to run then…but don’t lose your spark, Jaskier, it’s what makes you that much more interesting,” Cahir said instead, gaining a huff from Jaskier. “Come on now, time to sit up. You need to eat, keep your strength up.”

“Not hungry.”

“Not an option,” Cahir retorted, reaching out again, grabbing onto to Jaskier’s upper arm. “Come on.”

Jaskier sighed but allowed Cahir to help him up and into a sitting position. He stretched his legs out, making sure the undersides of his feet weren’t touching the furs or pressed against anything. Even just getting up into a sitting position caused the wounds on his feet to throb in time with his heart beat. 

“Eat,” ordered Cahir as he handed the plate to Jaskier, who took it, sighing. “Eat all of it.” 

Jaskier gave a small nod, slowly starting to pick at the food under Cahir’s watchful gaze. Cahir watched as Jaskier ate, taking his time and pausing every now again, looking a little pale. 

“If it weren’t for Fringilla, you would have gotten to the horse,” Cahir spoke up suddenly, gaining a shocked look from Jaskier. Cahir smirked slightly as he leaned back, regarding the bard in front of him. “The soldiers were grumbling about you and your damn long legs.”

Jaskier gave a twitch of a smile at that.

“Apparently that’s why they couldn’t catch you,” Cahir continued. “Too nimble on your long legs is what I keep hearing grumbled.”

Jaskier gave a small snort, shaking his head as he looked back to his food. Cahir watched Jaskier again, noting some sort of spark had returned to his eye.

Cahir sat back, silently pleased at that. Jaskier was far too intriguing to allow him to break and become catatonic. 

He would need to speak to Jon, Cahir decided, to see if there was anything Jon had that could help keep Jaskier perked up. 

He sat beside Jaskier, watching as Jaskier finally swallowed down the last of the food, still looking pale but not as peaky as he had been. Cahir handed him the mug of water next, giving him a look, dark eyes firm.

Jaskier sighed but took the mug all the same, sipping at the water. 

“You never stay long in courts,” Cahir said suddenly, as the thought came to mind. “You’re always travelling from one town, one kingdom, to the next.”

“Don’t like staying in one place too long,” Jaskier admitted quietly as he traced the rim of the wooden mug with a light finger. “I-I feel trapped.”

“Like when that witch kept you when you first left home,” Cahir murmured, gaining a surprised look from Jaskier, who was shocked that Cahir still remembered that. 

“Yeah,” Jaskier muttered, looking back to the mug. “In courts there are expectations, how to behave, how to dress, what to do…but if you travel, you don’t need to conform to their expectations too often.”

“I would have thought you’d thrive in courts with the attention.”

Jaskier shook his head. “It’s good for a while, good for events, to get known…but stay too long and some Lords and Ladies begin to expect more from you…demand more from you.”

Cahir blinked, mouth twisting into a deep frown. 

“But not with the Witcher…” Cahir said slowly. Jaskier shook his head with a sigh, head rolling around loosely on his neck as his eyes drifted shut.

“Geralt never wanted anything from me…not as a bard, not as a Viscount…he was fine with me as me…” Jaskier murmured, voice going soft and faint. Cahir laughed quietly when he saw Jaskier’s eyes struggling to remain open.

Apparently all the bard needed was a good meal and he became a drowsy, docile kitten. 

Cahir sighed as Jaskier jerked himself awake, crying out in pain as the motion caused pain to arc through his back. 

“Come here, you fool,” Cahir sighed, reaching out to carefully manhandle Jaskier down to laying on his side, this time facing out towards the tent. 

Cahir stood up, stepping over Jaskier again and turning back to face him. Jaskier had grabbed the pillow that Cahir had once thrown at him, and had shoved it under his head, grumbling tiredly. 

Cahir barely bit back a sigh as he watched Jaskier try to curl his long limbs up as much as he was able to with his sore back and feet, shivering as he did so. Cahir grabbed one of the furs from Jaskier’s bedding, pulling it over the shivering bard.

“Rest, Jaskier, regain your strength and your confidence,” Cahir murmured to him. “You’ve lost quite a bit of blood these last few days. It’s left you weakened…once you regain your energy and strength, you’ll be back to your old, sassy, chatty self.”

Jaskier grunted low in his throat, not quite agreeing, but pulled the fur tighter around him, sighing softly as he snuggled into its warmth. 

Cahir stood, watching as Jaskier’s face went lax, his breathing deepening and evening out, as the bard succumbed to sleep – full of food and still trying to recover from his injuries, it wasn’t surprising that he fell into sleep so easily. 

Cahir glanced at the manacle still attached to Jaskier’s exposed ankle – apparently Jaskier couldn’t sleep with his feet covered at the moment – and sighed to himself.

Well, there was nowhere the bard could go with the manacle attached to his ankle…and with his feet as bruised, swollen and as cut up as they were...well, it would be damned near torture to walk on them.

Cahir left his tent, giving orders for two soldiers to guard the entrance - it couldn’t hurt to be too careful – before he strode across their camp, heading towards a familiar tent.  
He shook his head fondly as he approached, already hearing colourful swearing from inside the tent. Cahir walked into the tent, seeing Jon glaring at a cowering soldier, who was sat on one of the medical cots. 

“How old are you?” Jon was snapping at the soldier as he bandaged up a wound on his arm. “You are not a child! You should know better than this! …clearly I expect too much though. Perhaps you’d be better suited on kitchen duty, don’t you think, Commander Cahir?”

Cahir schooled his expression into his usual cool, expressionless look, as the soldier that Jon was scolding turned to look at him, eyes wide. 

“Depends on what he did,” Cahir drawled as he approached. 

“A couple of your soldiers became bored and decided to train…blindfolded,” Jon said, voice oozing his displeasure, though Cahir knew that was just Jon being the concerned and overprotective medic he was. “This is the third soldier I’ve treated today with blade wounds.” 

“Well, they’re showing initiative,” Cahir said, just to see Jon spin on heel to glare at him, red curls flying as he did so. “But blindfolded was perhaps a step too far,” Cahir conceded, turning to the solider. 

“Tell the others not to be so thoughtless in future…or you will have to face Jon’s wrath and I’m certain he can come up with more imaginative punishments than I can.”

The soldier nodded frantically. “Y-Yes, Commander, o-of course.”

The soldier looked to Jon, who jerked his head towards the tent exit, before he stood, giving a weak, shaky salute before he hightailed it from the tent.

“Still putting the fear of medics into the men, huh, Jon?” Cahir asked as he settled down to sit on the cot that the soldier had just vacated. Jon turned, giving a lopsided but tired grin, as he ran a hand through his dark red curls, trying to tame his unruly curls, which had fluffed up a bit in his stress with him repeatedly running his hand through his hair. 

“They need to learn that besides the commanders, that the medics should be feared the most…especially when they do something so damn foolish,” Jon muttered as he sat down on the cot opposite Cahir, sighing as he leaned forward on his thighs. “I will be the comforting medic when they get injured in battle…not because of their own stupidity. If it’s because of their stupidity, then they get to deal with the scary medic.” 

Cahir chuckled softly at that, nodding. 

Jon sighed, shaking his head, before he looked up at Cahir, looking tired. 

“So, how can I help you, Commander?” Jon asked, raising an eyebrow. “There’s no injured bard being dragged in...so I assume he’s still in one piece?” 

“More or less,” Cahir answered, but conceded to Jon’s bemused look. “I am… _concerned_ about his mental wellbeing.”

“Ah, yes,” Jon murmured, surprising Cahir. “I had noticed he was spiralling yesterday, almost catatonic, when I was treating his feet.”

“I am concerned that he’ll just give up before he’s even at Nilfgaard,” Cahir continued as Jon nodded along, sombrely agreeing. Jon leaned forward, frowning for a moment, seeming to collect his thoughts. 

“I do not believe Jaskier would survive Nilfgaard,” Jon said slowly, carefully, giving a rueful smile. “Does he seem to be the type to be kept as a caged song bird?” 

“No,” Cahir muttered, shaking his head. “He doesn’t…but orders are orders, Jon.”

“I know, I know,” Jon agreed softly. “It may just mean that the Jaskier we send to Nilfgaard may be different to the sassy, fighting bard that we’ve known here.” 

Cahir didn’t look too impressed with that but he straightened up, rubbing at his chin thoughtfully. 

“We can’t have that,” Cahir muttered. “He wouldn’t be the same bard that has gained renown throughout the Continent.”

Jon hesitated for a moment before he leaned forward, green eyes fixed on Cahir’s face.

“Do we truly know that he’ll be assigned to be court bard?” Jon asked quietly, so only Cahir could hear. “We’re only assuming that.”

“There’s nothing else I could think of, no other role that Jaskier could be assigned to, especially since they want to integrate him into Nilfgaard,” Cahir said, sounding slightly uncertain. Jon gave him a knowing look and Cahir shook his head.

“No, Jon…our Emperor wouldn’t use him like that,” Cahir muttered, shaking his head. “He’s not like the Usurper.”

Cahir looked up, seeing Jon’s gaze had darkened in memory.

“I just…I can’t think of another reason,” Jon whispered, a large shudder shaking his lean frame. Cahir stared at Jon for a moment before he settled on a decision. 

“If the Witcher doesn’t come and Jaskier does get sent to Nilfgaard, I’m going to send you with him,” Cahir told him, watching as Jon looked up at him, green eyes bright once again but wide with shock. “Jaskier has come to trust you. You might be the only one to keep him from spiralling into a truly dark place, one that I know you are familiar with.”

Jon shuddered once again but Cahir just leaned forward, close enough so that only Jon could hear his next words.

“And if the situation isn’t as we hoped, if Jaskier isn’t integrated into Nilfgaard to become the court bard…then I trust you will make the right decision on what happens to both you and Jaskier next.”

Jon blinked, shocked by Cahir’s words. “You do realise what you’re saying, Cahir…what you’re asking me.”

Cahir just gave a slight, twisted smirk as he got to his feet. 

“I haven’t told you to do anything, Jon,” he said simply. “I just trust you to make the right choice…whatever it may be.”

Jon nodded back in understanding and Cahir nodded once more before he left the medical tent, leaving Jon deep in thought. 

Geralt crouched amongst the foliage and trees, staring out through the last few feet of trees and into the Nilfgaardian camp. Yennefer was sitting beside him, her sharp gaze also on the soldiers as they milled about the edge of their camp set out in a flattened field. 

Yennefer glanced up at the sky, frowning.

“We’ll have to wait until the sun sets,” Yennefer murmured to Geralt, who grunted in agreement. “They’ll spot us far too easily if we go now.”

Geralt nodded, his amber eyes fixed on the camp, watching the soldiers and trying to see if he could find Jaskier within the sea of black armour. 

Yennefer watched Geralt as the sun slowly began to sink towards the horizon, watching how Geralt kept his gaze fixed almost unblinkingly on the camp, amber eyes darting over each soldier that came into view, over every tent. She could even see his nostrils flaring every now and again as though he was trying to catch even the faintest scent of Jaskier.

She opened her mouth, as though to say something, before she closed it again, looking back out towards the camp. She didn’t know what to say to Geralt…she didn’t know what to say to reassure him.

Geralt stayed crouched in position, back tense, just wanting to get out there and rip that camp apart to find Jaskier. 

He was so close, Geralt knew it…but he had to find him first. 

All too slowly, the sun finally sunk beneath the horizon, and the soldiers lit the torches placed about the camp.

“That could be useful,” Yennefer murmured from beside him, eyes on the flickering flames. Geralt just grunted again, watching the soldiers. They stayed there a little while longer, Yennefer shivering somewhat, just watching and waiting as the soldiers laughter carried to them from the large fire they were sitting around. 

Still, he couldn’t see Jaskier. Couldn’t hear him.

Geralt straightened up as the soldiers began dispersing, heading towards their tents. Yennefer stood up beside him and they silently began to make their way towards the camp. They paused at the edge, staring out at the tents. 

“We’ll split up,” Yennefer murmured, fingers sparking slightly. “I’ll try and track him…and you try and sniff him out.”

Geralt shot her an unimpressed look but nodded. They’d be less likely to be spotted if they weren’t together. 

Yennefer took off to the right, quickly blending into the shadows between the tents and Geralt headed off straight ahead, darting in between the tents. He paused, hearing footsteps coming towards him, crunching the grass underfoot. 

Singular soldier, Geralt deduced by the footsteps. Too light to be two soldiers. Geralt reached out, grabbing the soldier as he walked past and yanking him into the shadows. He quickly drew his dagger, holding it against the stunned soldier’s throat as he loomed over him.

“The bard,” Geralt snarled quietly at him, amber eyes flashing dangerously, as he pressed the dagger harder against the soldier’s throat. “Where is he?!” 

Yennefer walked through the camp, keeping her footsteps light as she kept to the shadows, stretching out her senses as she tried to locate Jaskier. She paused for a moment, sensing something…and quickly ducked into the tent that felt of Jaskier. 

The singular occupant within the tent, a man sitting behind a table filled with herbs, dressed in black linen clothing, looked up as she stalked in, the man’s red curls bouncing as he did so. 

His green eyes examined her as he tilted her head.

“You’re the witch...the one who came before to try free the bard,” he said, voice calm, surprising Yennefer momentarily. Yennefer’s gaze darted around the tent, looking for Jaskier. 

“Your prisoner, where is he?” she demanded, voice cold as she stalked up to the man. “And don’t think about yelling for help.”

The man just smiled as he stood up, running a hand through his red curls. 

“Jaskier isn’t here,” he said simply.

“I sensed him,” Yennefer said, uncertain as she watched the man. He turned towards a group of bags nestled next to a slept in cot. 

“Perhaps you sensed his belongings,” he said, indicating to them. “I was put in charge of watching them. Apparently I’m the only one who wouldn’t destroy them.”

Yennefer stared at the man again, watching as he sat down, keeping his hands up and in view. She blinked once again before turning to Jaskier’s bags. She ran her hands over the bag, fingers drifting over the lute case.

“Why do you still have his things?” she asked. “What purpose do they serve?”

“I’m not sure,” the man said with a small shrug. “I believe some of the plans were to send some items to the Witcher, other items were to be kept to track Jaskier if he escaped…which he has attempted to quite a number of times.”

“Are there any tracking spells on his things?” Yennefer demanded to know as she got to her feet, spinning around to face him. 

“Not that I know of,” he said calmly. “I think they were just being held in case Jaskier did manage to slip away.”

Yennefer quickly waved her hand, watching as Jaskier’s possessions disappeared. 

It was best not to leave them here, to be used. 

Yennefer looked back to the man sitting at the table, still watching her. She was surprised that he hadn’t tried to yell for help…that he had actually been helpful.

“Who are you?” she asked him, unable to control herself.

“My name is Jon,” he introduced himself. “I am the camp healer. I’ve been looking after Jaskier, making sure he’s okay after he gets punished.”

“Why are you being helpful? Why haven’t you called out for help?” she demanded. Jon just gave a sad smile. 

“I’ve come to know Jaskier,” he said carefully. “He has a good heart and he’s loyal…and he deserves more in this life than to be caged.” 

Yennefer was uncertain how to respond to that, but Jon just smiled at her. 

“He’s lucky to have friends like you…and even the Witcher,” Jon continued. “You’ll find Jaskier with Commander Cahir.”

Yennefer just blinked before she truly looked at Jon, seeing the bright green eyes filled with kindness and care. Jon truly seemed like he cared. He didn’t seem like just another soldier or heartless healer just doing his job for the coin.

“Do you want to get away from here, Jon?” she offered him, gaining a surprised look from the healer. “I can help you get away…as thanks for looking after Jaskier.”

Jon smiled but shook his head, smiling up at her sadly. 

“No…but thank you,” he murmured. “I’m Nilfgaardian…and I’m here to look after these men, to give them the care they need when they get hurt in battle…but Jaskier deserves more than this life.”

Yennefer wasn’t expecting that, but Jon just smiled and nodded at her.

“Jaskier’s waiting for you,” he told her. “Go now before they discover you. Get him out of here. Get him safe…and tell him I hope he finds that home that he’s been searching for.”

Yennefer inclined her head before she turned on heel and left the tent. Tissaia would have scolded her for leaving the medic behind and conscious…but something deep in her heart told her that Jon wouldn’t raise the alarm, that he wouldn’t give her up. 

Geralt leaned over the solider, scowling at him.

“He’s with Commander Cahir,” the soldier hissed. “Somewhere you won’t get him, freak!”

Geralt growled, tightening his hold on the soldier’s armour.

“THE WITCHER IS HERE!”

Geralt snarled and slit the soldier’s throat. No use keeping him alive when his cover had been blown. Geralt marched out from the shadows, no use hiding when they knew he was here, nostrils flared as he tried to find any trace of Jaskier’s scent. 

He stalked out into the main clearing, pulling his sword from the sheath on his back as some of the Nilfgaardian soldiers tried to rush him. Geralt quickly cut them down, leaving their bodies there as he prowled forward.

He had just shoved one soldier back when something caught his eye just in his peripheral. Geralt spun around to see a Nilfgaardian marching towards him, dragging along a figure dressed in black who was doing his best to keep up with the Nilfgaardian, though he looked like he was struggling to walk. Geralt frowned when he spotted the shining silver shackles on the other’s wrists and the bare feet. 

Geralt froze as the man being dragged forward by the Nilfgaardian finally lifted his head, revealing familiar sky blue eyes, though they were filled with pain.

Geralt saw Jaskier’s lips part, moving ever so slightly, before his sharp hearing picked up the breathy, shocked whisper.

“ _Geralt_.” 

Geralt gripped his sword tighter as the man dragging Jaskier came to a stop, pulling Jaskier to a stop with the tight grip on Jaskier’s upper arm. Geralt did his best to check over Jaskier, amber eyes darting over him to make sure he wasn’t seriously injured.

Jaskier’s face was ashen, blue eyes tight with pain, and face bruised and slightly swollen. He also seemed to be struggling to put any weight on his feet. 

“Jaskier, are you all right?” Geralt asked, gaze flicking to the sides as more soldiers warily circled them. 

Jaskier swallowed harshly but gave a small nod, his blue eyes fixed firmly on Geralt as though fearful that if he looked away that Geralt would disappear. 

“And you thought he wouldn’t come for you,” the Nilfgaardian drawled as he looked to Jaskier, who winced. Geralt barely held back a wince at that, guilt twisting his stomach heavily. 

He couldn’t believe he’d hurt Jaskier that much that Jaskier truly believed that he wouldn’t come for him, to help him. 

“And who are you?” Geralt just asked gruffly, pushing those thoughts aside and locking those emotions deep down. He couldn’t afford to be distracted now, not when that bastard had Jaskier and Jaskier was so close but just a little out of reach. 

“I am Commander Cahir,” the Nilfgaardian said, his sunken blue eyes turning back onto Geralt. Geralt’s gaze was caught by a dark skinned woman in blue and silver robes striding up to stand next to Cahir, looking smug.

“That would make her Fringilla then,” Geralt said, smirking. “Heard you’re a crazy bitch.”

Fringilla scowled at him and Jaskier looked at him imploringly, but Cahir just looked amused. 

Geralt looked back to Jaskier as Jaskier gave a sharp, pained intake of breath, seeing Jaskier shifting slightly on his bare feet, as though trying to stop some sort of pain. Cahir just glanced at Jaskier before looking to Geralt, who had clenched his jaw and tightened his grip on his sword.

Cahir yanked Jaskier forward slightly, just enough so Jaskier would stumble and put weight on his injured feet, making him moan in pain. Cahir watched as Geralt tensed up, his teeth baring in a snarl at Jaskier’s pained moan.

“Now, Geralt of Rivia, you and I have some things to discuss...such as the location of Princess Cirilla…or your bard will suffer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken a bit longer, but it's taken a bit to beat this chapter into submission lol...and I didn't want to give you a rushed chapter :)


	14. Face Off

Jaskier could barely focus on Geralt as pain immersed his entire being, charging red hot up from his feet and into his body, making him dizzy. He’d been dozing on the furs as Cahir read over some sort of papers once again, when there had come the shout about the Witcher. Jaskier had shot upright at that as had Cahir, who had quickly come over to Jaskier and undoing the manacle around his ankle. 

There had been a hard, determined light in Cahir’s eyes as he had dragged Jaskier up into a standing position, with Jaskier whimpering in pain as he was forced to stand on his wounded feet. Cahir paid him no attention though, as he grabbed hold on Jaskier’s upper arm.

“Please, _please_ ,” Jaskier begged breathlessly, the pain almost unbearable. Cahir’s gaze flashed to him for a moment.

“The Witcher just needs to give us Princess Cirilla,” Cahir had said simply. “Your pain depends on his stubbornness.” 

Jaskier had still been so shocked when Cahir had dragged him out of the tent and through the camp.

Geralt was standing there, sword held in hand as his amber eyes flashed dangerously. Blood was splattered across Geralt’s face, bodies littered the ground around him…and then Geralt’s golden eyes had landed on him, relief flashing through those golden orbs. 

Jaskier had never been so relieved, yet so terrified to see him.

And then Cahir had issued his ultimatum…and now here they stood. Jaskier could barely stay upright from the pain, vision a bit hazy around the edges, but he couldn’t take his gaze away from Geralt’s face. He didn’t want to look away and find that it had all been a dream or one of Fringilla’s sick hallucinations and that Geralt hadn’t really come for him.

Geralt bared his teeth as he watched Jaskier sway in Cahir’s grasp, scenting the bitter acrid scent of pain flowing from Jaskier. 

“The Princess, Witcher,” Cahir said once again, shaking Jaskier, who gasped in pain. Geralt glared at Cahir, who looked smug. Cahir knew that he could use Jaskier to get what he wanted from Geralt…but Geralt also couldn’t risk Ciri. 

“Don’t know where she is,” Geralt lied gruffly, eyes staying on Jaskier, who was looking paler with every passing moment. Cahir looked to Jaskier too, seeing how much he had paled and frowned, before giving Jaskier another small shake.

“Don’t go fainting on me now, Jaskier,” Cahir muttered to Jaskier, though Geralt stiffened as he heard the mutter, a low growl building in his throat as he listened to what Cahir said to Jaskier. “Just a bit longer and then your wounds can be seen to…and I will allow Jon to give you pain killers.”

Jaskier just moaned softly, pained blue eyes flitting up to meet Geralt’s gaze. Cahir turned his attention back to Geralt.

“Don’t lie to me, Witcher,” Cahir hissed. “I know you were in Cintra the night it fell. I saw the men you left dead in the castle, the bodies littering the halls. You were there.”

“I was,” Geralt admitted, knowing it was better to add some truths to the lies…it made it more believable. “I had gone to see how safe Cirilla was, when I heard how close you were getting. Calanthe tried to pass another child off as her granddaughter before imprisoning me.”

Jaskier frowned at Geralt at that, his blue eyes pained…but for Geralt, not for himself. Geralt gave Jaskier a small nod, keeping his gaze on the pained bard, though he continued to answer Cahir. 

“I was able to escape in the chaos of your invasion,” Geralt continued to explain, though inwardly he was cursing Yennefer, wondering where the hell she was. “I tried to find the Princess, to see if I could get her out…but your men told me that they had left none alive…that all of Cintra had fallen.”

Geralt finally looked to Cahir, eyes narrowed as he bared his teeth again. 

“Until you took my bard, demanding that I hand over the Princess, I thought she was dead!” he lied, snarling loudly. He watched as Cahir’s mouth twisted down into a frown as he looked to Fringilla. Geralt barely kept from smirking.

They seemed to believe him. 

Geralt looked back to Jaskier, who had his eyes closed. Geralt tilted his head, focusing on Jaskier. He could hear Jaskier’s breathing had becoming heavier, more ragged, and see that a light sheen of sweat had formed across Jaskier’s face, shining in the low light left by the torches. 

“I don’t know where Princess Cirilla is,” Geralt reiterated. “Now, just give me my bard and we can all go our separate ways…alive.”

Cahir looked back to Geralt, eyebrow cocked and smirk adorning his lips.

“Say I believe you about the Lion Cub,” Cahir drawled. “What makes you think that I would let you leave here? You are bound to Cirilla through Destiny, through the Law of Surprise. Destiny will be forced to intervene and you will be reunited with her. All that means is I just have to keep you.”

Geralt clenched his jaw at that, hands tightening around the sword hilt as he tensed his shoulders, glancing at the soldiers circling them. 

“You don’t need the bard,” Geralt tried. If he could get Jaskier away, get him out of reach of the Nilfgaardians, then he didn’t have to worry about Jaskier getting hurt and he could attack the Nilfgaardians with no troubles at all to escape. “Just let him go.”

“Jaskier has his purpose, just as you will have yours,” Cahir said simply. Geralt’s gaze snapped to Jaskier as Jaskier shuddered, the bitter scent of fear flowing from Jaskier…something that Geralt wasn’t used to coming from Jaskier. Jaskier had only given out a fear scent when a monster was very close to killing him, but that was always brief and not very strong. He had always given Geralt his brightest, though shakiest smile after Geralt had killed the monster, stating that he knew Geralt would save him…he always did. 

Geralt stared at Jaskier, hearing Jaskier’s heart race so quickly in his chest. 

He hadn’t save him this time…not yet anyway.

“What do you need him for?” Geralt found himself asking, unable to control himself. Jaskier shuddered again and Cahir looked to the bard. Geralt saw Fringilla smirking smugly but ignored her for now, keeping his attention on Jaskier. 

“He is to go to Nilfgaard. He will serve our Emperor there,” Cahir stated, tilting his head as he regarded Jaskier, who was shivering, eyes closed. “Jaskier will be the jewel of the court.”

Geralt snarled at that, hearing Jaskier’s heart speed up in fear, almost like the fluttering of bird’s wings. He braced his shoulders, bringing his sword up as he pulled his back foot into a ready stance.

“Not going to happen!” Geralt snarled at them. “Jaskier is _not_ your pet!”

“Is he yours?” Fringilla asked suddenly, smirking, startling Geralt momentarily. “You’re the one who used him, tossed him away…I mean, if you hadn’t thrown him aside, wished that life would take him off of your hands, then we wouldn’t have been able to get him.”

Geralt growled lowly at her, guilt stabbing at him. How did they know what he had said to Jaskier on the mountain? He didn’t think Jaskier would so freely tell them, not when he knew the words hurt him so much, so much that it made him believe that Geralt wouldn’t come for him.

“And you’re lying about the Princess,” Fringilla stated. “We know you have her.”

“And where would I have left her?” Geralt asked scathingly. “Do you think I have _friends_ to just leave her with?” 

“Other Witchers, perhaps,” Fringilla pushed, which just made Geralt snort. 

“I wouldn’t trust them with a horse, never mind a child,” Geralt smirked. “I don’t have the Princess…and I’m taking Jaskier. He’s not going to Nilfgaard.” 

Fringilla lifted her hand, which just made Geralt arch an eyebrow. 

“Magic doesn’t work on me,” Geralt reminded her with a feral smile. “But this will definitely work on you,” Geralt said, shifting his sword, letting the fire light glint off the bloodied blade. “Just give me Jaskier and this won’t end in bloodshed.” 

“You truly think you can escape?” spat Fringilla, sweeping her arm out. “You’re surrounded by mages and soldiers. Even you can’t beat these odds alone.”

“Who said he’s alone?” 

Geralt barely glanced to the side as Yennefer strode up to stand beside him, sneering at Fringilla.

“You took your time, Yen,” Geralt muttered to her. 

“Got caught up,” she said simply, though her purple eyes wandered to Jaskier, frowning when she saw he was being held up by Cahir. “Your bard doesn’t look so good.”

Geralt just grunted at that, staring at Jaskier worriedly, seeing Jaskier was sagging lower with every passing breath. 

“Yennefer,” Fringilla sneered in disgust. “Should have known you’d be following the Witcher like a dog.” 

Yennefer just smirked, folding her arms across her chest. “You mean like how you lick that one’s boots?” she replied, nodding to Cahir. “Or maybe we can talk about how you let yourself get used by the Nilfgaard Emperor.”

There were snarls from all sides at that and Geralt sighed, readjusting his grip on the sword. 

“Good going, Yen,” Geralt muttered. “Try not to piss them off too much.”

“Surrender now,” Cahir spoke up, taking control over the situation once more and quieting his men, who were raring for a fight. “This need not end in bloodshed. You can work for Nilfgaard, be celebrated…you just need to surrender.”

“Yeah, not really my thing,” Geralt spoke up with a shrug. “Yen?”

“I’ve spent enough time in courts,” Yennefer agreed. “And your ale is absolute shit.” 

Cahir sighed, looking to Jaskier, who just stared weakly at them, though there was a hint of a smile pulling at Jaskier’s lips. 

“Get the puppy,” Yennefer muttered to Geralt. “Things are about to get messy.”

Geralt nodded, looking to Yennefer. He watched as she spread her arms, fingers arching. He grinned when he saw the flames within the metal torches shift and move, heading towards Yennefer. 

With a scream from Yennefer, flames erupted from the pissed off mage, forming a circle around them and driving panicking soldiers back. Fringilla stumbled back from the burning flames, screaming out for her followers. 

Geralt used the chaos and the panic to leap forward, cutting down the soldiers who lunged at him, before he darted forward towards Cahir, grabbing onto Jaskier with one hand while the other slammed the sword hilt down on the startled Commander’s head, sending him stumbling back. 

Cahir cursed himself internally as Geralt came towards him. He had foolishly held onto Jaskier with his dominant hand, making it harder for him to get his sword out of his sheathe. His less dominant hand plunged towards the sheathe on his hip, struggling to pull the sword out on a less than optimum angle. Cahir had barely managed to pull his sword out before Geralt was upon him, giving him no time to raise his sword in defence.

As pain exploded through his head, Cahir released his grip on Jaskier as he stumbled back, blinded by the pain and the sudden onslaught of blood from his head wound. 

Geralt ducked down slightly and wrapped his arm around Jaskier, just under his rear and lifted his feet off the ground, carrying the weakened bard back into the circle of flames. Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt’s neck, burying his face into the side of Geralt’s hair. 

“Got him, Yen!” Geralt yelled to her, watching as the flames closed into a protective circle around them, the flames lashing out at the soldiers attempting to get close. Geralt held up his sword with one hand, keeping Jaskier held close with the other, reassured by the weak puffs of breath against the side of his head from the wounded bard. 

“You didn’t kill the commander!” Yennefer yelled back, her purple eyes burning brightly as she kept the flames burning bright. 

“He was too close to Jaskier!” Geralt snapped back. “I couldn’t risk him!”

Jaskier shuddered against Geralt at that, arms tightening around Geralt’s neck. Geralt looked up, seeing Fringilla and her mages were circling the flames, preparing themselves. Cahir had straightened up and was barking orders as he swiped frantically at his head, trying to keep the blood from flowing into his eyes. Cahir paced the outside of the flame walls, dark eyes set on Geralt and Jaskier, waiting for the opportunity to strike.

Geralt wasn’t going to give him that chance. Not when Jaskier was clutched tightly against his side.

“Yen, we need to go now!” Geralt yelled at her. 

“We have to move quickly,” Yennefer barked at him. “I can’t keep them back and hold the portal for too long!” Yennefer threw one arm out to the side, a portal forming, though at the same time, the wall of flames encircling them weakened.

“Go!”

Geralt didn’t need telling twice and he leapt through, holding on tightly to Jaskier. 

He stumbled as he came out on the other side, looking around the dry valley. Geralt shifted, sheathing the sword into the sheath across his back, before readjusting his hold on Jaskier, who was shivering weakly in his arms.

He didn’t get time to check Jaskier as Yennefer appeared seconds after him, the portal closing behind her. 

“We need to jump again,” Yennefer told him, panting. “Just in case they’ve managed to get a track on us.”

Geralt nodded, holding Jaskier tighter against his side, reassured by the feeling of Jaskier’s heartbeat against his side. 

Yennefer turned to look in front of her, hand out. Another portal formed and Geralt hurried through it, not wanting to make Yennefer hold it open for too long…not when she looked so exhausted already. 

Geralt stepped out, blinking in surprise when the sea breeze hit him. He stared over the cliff into the sea below. 

Well, he and Jaskier finally got to the coast.

Geralt was ripped from that rapidly spiralling thought as Jaskier suddenly pushed at his shoulder and chest repeatedly. Geralt carefully set him down, before startling and reaching out – though far too slow – as Jaskier fell onto all fours, throwing up repeatedly. 

“Portalling doesn’t agree with many people,” Yennefer said airily from behind them as Geralt crouched down, hovering worriedly beside Jaskier. Jaskier finally stopped throwing up and looked up at Geralt, sky blue eyes meeting golden amber. Geralt reached up, rubbing the bile remnants off the corner of Jaskier’s mouth.

“G-Geralt,” Jaskier whispered, eyes darting across Geralt’s face as though in disbelief. “Y-You…y-you came…”

“Of course, Jaskier,” Geralt murmured. Jaskier stared at him for a moment longer before his pallor turned ashen once more, blue eyes rolling backwards. Geralt lunged forward, catching Jaskier before he fell unconscious into the vomit in the dirt underneath him. Geralt cradled Jaskier close to his chest, resting a large hand over Jaskier’s clothed chest, over his heart, breathing out in relief at the thump of Jaskier’s heart – though a little unsteady.

“Bring him into the house,” Yennefer said suddenly from beside him. Geralt looked up and behind them, spotting a double story cottage there. 

“Do all mages have hidden houses?” Geralt asked as he adjusted Jaskier in his arms, making sure he was secure, before he stood up. 

“Always good to have two or three,” Yennefer responded as she watched Geralt stand up, Jaskier cradled in his arms, the unconscious bard’s head rolling around limply. Yennefer reached out to readjust Jaskier’s head, tucking it more securely against Geralt’s chest so it didn’t loll around limply. 

“Come now,” Yennefer murmured. “Let’s go see what state he’s in.”

Geralt clutched Jaskier tighter to his chest at that, unable to make himself look down at Jaskier’s pale face, before he followed Yennefer into the house. 

Cahir glared through the wall of flame as the witch conjured a portal. He snarled as the Witcher ran through it, with Jaskier held tightly in his arms. Yennefer looked over them once more, dark painted lips twisting into a smirk before she moved her arm in a sweeping motion, the flames roaring and flying outwards. 

Cahir shielded his eyes from the intense heat before blinking them open, seeing the witch had disappeared through the portal as well, leaving a number of tents ablaze. Cahir gritted his teeth, before yelling out in anger and frustration and burying his sword into the ground beneath him, collapsing to his knees and breathing heavily. The Witcher had gotten away…with Jaskier…and they were no closer to getting Cirilla. 

“Commander!” came the worried shout. “Cahir!” 

Cahir looked up at that, seeing Jon hurrying towards him, falling to his knees beside the commander. Cahir squinted, taking in Jon’s sooty face through the blood trickling over his eyes. 

“Jon,” Cahir muttered, wincing as Jon reached up to examine the gash across Cahir’s forehead. Jon turned, digging through his bag to find a waterskin, grabbing it out before he tilted Cahir’s head back.

“Close your eyes,” Jon ordered, not caring about the shouts about them as the soldiers worked on putting the burning tents out. Cahir did so, wincing as Jon poured the water over his face, washing the blood off his eyes. 

There was pressure against the wound and Cahir moved his head forward once again, blinking his eyes open. Jon was peering into his eyes, looking concerned.

“How are you feeling?” Jon asked, worriedly. “Dizzy? Blurred vision?”

“Headache, but I don’t have time for this, Jon,” Cahir growled, pushing Jon’s hand away and holding the rag to the wound himself. “The Witcher got away with Jaskier! We need to find them!” 

“We can use a tracking spell,” Fringilla said as she stalked over to them, looking furious. “Jon, go get the bard’s belongings.”

“I don’t have them,” Jon said simply as he gave Cahir a stern look, going to check on the wound under the rag. “The mage, Yennefer, found them and took them.”

“And you didn’t try to stop her?!” Fringilla snarled. Jon glanced up at her, disbelieving, before he went back to treating the wound on Cahir’s forehead. 

“What did you expect me to do?” Jon asked in disbelief. “She could snap my neck with the power she has in her little finger. I wasn’t going to try and fight her over some clothing…not when I have men to treat, especially now.”

“You could have yelled for someone,” Fringilla said icily. Cahir turned his gaze onto Jon at that, frowning slightly.

“She would have killed all who would have come to my aid,” Jon said quietly. “I was not going to have their blood on my hands.”

Fringilla towered over Jon, who wasn’t intimated as he continued to treat Cahir. “Perhaps you made a deal with her,” Fringilla hissed. “Perhaps you betrayed us, betrayed Nilfgaard.”

Jon’s head snapped up at that, green eyes ablaze with anger. 

“That’s enough, Fringilla!” Cahir snarled, glaring at her. “Jon’s loyalty is not in question! He knew he wouldn’t survive against her if he fought, and I don’t blame him for not going against her. He had to treat the survivors of Sodden Hill, he knows what she is capable of. He is alive for the men…and I know he would die for them if that had been the choice. Jon’s loyalty to Nilfgaard is not be questioned, I will not hear of it. Understood?” 

“Yes, Commander,” Fringilla managed to get out before she turned on heel, stalking away. Jon looked to Cahir, who was staring back at him. Jon just gave a small nod and thankful smile as he finished treating the wound on Cahir’s head. 

“The bleeding has stopped, come see me if you get double vision, dizzy, world seems to be tilting, that sort of thing,” Jon told him quietly. “I need to go check on the men and see how my assistants were going.”

“The men?” Cahir questioned as Jon repacked his bag. 

“A few burns from those who had been in the tents when they caught alight, otherwise just coughing from the smoke and wounds from fighting the Witcher,” Jon informed him. “The men were smart enough to stay away from the flames. I believe they knew what Yennefer was capable of after what happened at Sodden.”

Cahir nodded, before grimacing as his head pulsed. 

“Take an easy, Commander,” Jon ordered him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t make the injury worse. We can’t lose you…not now.”

Cahir gritted his teeth as Jon gave a final, comforting squeeze to his shoulder before he went off to tend to the men. Cahir remained kneeling, watching as the men put out the last remnants of the flame. 

Anger was bubbling low in his stomach. Anger at the Witcher, anger at himself. 

He had been so close to getting Cirilla, to getting the answers he had needed…he had _wanted_ …and now the Witcher had escaped, taking Jaskier with him, and leaving Cahir two steps behind yet again.

The Emperor would not be pleased.

Geralt carefully laid Jaskier out on the bed, being extra careful and gentle with him, not knowing what injuries Jaskier had hidden. 

Geralt shifted back, frowning as he looked over Jaskier. He barely bit back a snarl when he noticed a dark, hand shaped bruise wrapped around Jaskier’s neck.

“What is it?” Yennefer asked as she approached. 

“I didn’t see this before,” Geralt growled lowly as he lightly traced the bruise on Jaskier’s neck. “Someone choked him.”

Yennefer made a low noise in her throat, but said nothing, watching as Geralt looked over Jaskier, body tensing once more.

“Geralt?”

Geralt stared at Jaskier’s prone body, dressed in drab black clothing that washed out his colour and made him seem so much smaller than he was.

“Jaskier…he doesn’t wear black,” Geralt tried to explain. “It’s…it’s _not_ him. He’s meant to be in bright colours…bright like he is.”

Yennefer rested a gentle hand on Geralt’s shoulder. “Help me undress him,” she murmured to him. “We need to see what other injuries he has and we can get rid of the Nilfgaard clothing as well.”

Geralt nodded stiffly and Yennefer watched as Geralt oh-so carefully and so gently undressed Jaskier, taking the greatest care with him. It made her heart feel funny watching how careful Geralt was with Jaskier, as though he was the most precious, most fragile thing in the world. 

Soon, Jaskier was left in just his smallclothes and Geralt snarled, seeing the mottling bruises covering Jaskier’s sides, stomach and chest. Yennefer just quietly gathered up the Nilfgaard clothes before stalking over to the lit fireplace and throwing them in, watching as they quickly caught alight and burned.

“Yen?” Geralt’s voice questioned her gruffly. Yennefer just kept her eyes on the burning clothes.

“I just wanted to make sure they had no further claim to him,” Yennefer muttered, knowing Geralt could hear her. “They can’t claim him, can’t make him wear their clothes…can’t track him.”

Geralt nodded, seeing the slightest tremble in Yennefer’s tightly held shoulders before he looked back to Jaskier. He watched as Jaskier’s bruised chest rose and fell steadily before he breathed in, leaning over Jaskier to gently poke and prod at all the bruised areas. 

The bruising was in different stages of healing. A goldish colour across his stomach, darker reds and purples on his sides and even dark golds, greens and purples across his chest, noticeable even through the covering of chest hair. 

“No broken ribs,” Geralt grunted to Yennefer. “No broken bones…though they might be bruised.”

“Right,” Yennefer said, giving a shaky breath as she walked back over to help Geralt. Geralt carefully rolled Jaskier onto his side.

“Fuck, Geralt, his back,” Yennefer breathed suddenly. “I fucking should have killed them all! If I hadn't been so fucking drained, I would have fucking killed them all!”

Geralt frowned, quickly hurrying around to see what Yennefer was talking about. He snarled at the sight. Jaskier’s back was a mess of healing scabs and barely healed lashes, covering the expanse of the lean back. The bruising had almost healed, but it still added to the horrific image.

Geralt looked down suddenly towards Jaskier’s feet, stomach sinking as he remembered Jaskier struggling to walk, looking like it pained him to put weight on his feet. Yennefer neatly stepped out of the way as Geralt barrelled around to the end of the bed. He rolled Jaskier back onto his back and lifted Jaskier’s feet up slightly.

They were filthy, covered in dirt and mud…but something didn’t look quite right, even with all of the mess covering it.

“Yennefer, I need a cloth and water to clean his feet,” Geralt barked. Yennefer nodded, quickly gathering the requested materials. Geralt took them from her and quickly began cleaning the mess off of Jaskier’s feet, the water in the bowl quickly becoming muddied and turning brown. 

As Jaskier’s feet became cleaner, the rage burned brighter in Geralt’s chest as he began to see the damage done to Jaskier’s feet, could smell the copper iron scent of blood oozing sluggishly from the reopened wounds absolutely covering the sensitive undersides of Jaskier’s feet.

“Those fuckers,” Geralt growled, low and dangerous, as he examined Jaskier’s feet. They were red, swollen and bruised, covering in barely healing lash wounds which had reopened from the harsh treatment. “I shoulda killed them all. They’re not men…they’re monsters.”

“It looks recent,” Yennefer murmured in disgust from beside Geralt, feeling ill at the sight of Jaskier’s feet. “Recent and reopened too.”

“The bastard made him walk on the wounds,” Geralt snarled before freezing as Jaskier gave a moan and a shudder. “No wonder Jaskier fainted. The pain would have been terrible. Not to mention all of the blood he would have lost…fuck!”

Geralt got to his feet, pacing angrily across the bedroom. Yennefer watched, purple eyes fixed on him. Geralt looked like a predator, ready to snap and rip something apart…Yennefer had to calm him. Jaskier needed their help.

“Geralt!” she said, voice sharp and cutting through Geralt’s anger, making him pause. “You need to calm down. I know you’re angry, I know you want to kill them – I do too – but Jaskier needs our help _now_. He needs us calm.”

Geralt’s amber eyes flashed once again before he gave a slow nod. He walked back to the bed, eyes darting over Jaskier’s wounds.

“I can make a salve to help heal Jaskier’s wounds, to help with the pain and prevent infection,” Yennefer said, voice calm. “But it’ll take time to heal. I'd prefer to put him in a healing sleep, but we can't risk it, not if we have to move quickly.”

Geralt gave a hum at that, standing up so he could dig through the pocket under his armour, pulling out the vials. He picked out a white coloured one and placed the others back.

“What is that?” Yennefer asked, frowning as she stared at the vial.

“It’s a healing potion, called Swallow,” Geralt grunted in explanation. “It’s one taught to Witchers early in training. It helps to speed up regeneration.”

“A potion for Witchers will kill him, Geralt!” Yennefer hissed. Geralt shook his head as he eyed off the vial.

“Not if it’s cut down, reduced. It’s safe for human consumption if it’s been cut down,” Geralt explained. “I need somewhere to work, Yennefer.”

Yennefer sighed, looking to Jaskier, who was still deeply unconscious, body lax. 

“Come, I’ll show you to my work area,” Yennefer murmured as she stood, quickly sweeping from the room. Geralt looked at Jaskier once more, seeing he was still out of it, before following Yennefer downstairs. He followed into a small side room, which was covered in dry herbs hanging from the ceilings and a multitude of multi-coloured and different sized jars and vials lining all of the shelves. 

“Use what you need,” Yennefer told him as she headed to her work area. “I need to make the salves for Jaskier to prevent infection. Can’t have him dying after all of our hard work.”

Geralt shot her a look at that, but quickly went to making Swallow safe for Jaskier to consume. Yennefer glanced up at him from where she was working, creating a salve. 

“How will that help him?” Yennefer questioned. 

“It will speed up regeneration,” Geralt explained quietly as he worked, amber eyes fixed on his work. “It will make him heal a lot faster. Not as fast as a Witcher or a Mage…but faster than he normally would if we just let him heal naturally.”

Yennefer nodded and turned back to her salve. They both finished at about the same time, which surprised Yennefer. She would have expected Geralt to take longer, just to make sure.

“I’ve thought about it before,” he admitted, voice low. “I’ve gone over and studied how to make the healing potions safe for humans, just in case…for Jaskier.” 

They both headed back upstairs, seeing Jaskier still hadn’t awoken…or moved for that matter. Geralt could still hear his heartbeat beating slow and steady, which calmed him, hearing that reassuring sound. 

Geralt headed over to Jaskier, gently lifting his head and tipping the vial into Jaskier’s mouth.

“Come on, Jask,” Geralt murmured as he gently rubbed Jaskier’s throat, trying to stimulate him. “Swallow it.”

He smiled slightly at the bob of Jaskier’s throat under his hand, indicating that Jaskier had indeed swallowed the reworked potion. Geralt carefully rested Jaskier’s head back down against the pillow before he sat back, watching as Yennefer finished applying the salve on Jaskier’s feet. 

“Help me turn him onto his side,” Yennefer said to Geralt, who nodded, carefully rolling Jaskier onto his side and holding him in position as Yennefer applied the salve onto his back. He adjusted Jaskier so he was lying more securely on his side, so he wasn’t lying on his back, but making sure his breathing wasn’t obstructed. 

“I’ll let that breathe for now,” Yennefer told Geralt quietly, “but I’ll bandage the wounds up later, just so nothing gets into the wounds.”

Geralt nodded, eyes focused on Jaskier’s face. Yennefer silently stood up, pulling a thick blanket up and over Jaskier, up to his shoulders. She looked once more to Geralt, who was staring at Jaskier’s face, and left the room, knowing that Geralt just needed some time. 

Geralt carefully reached forward, sweeping Jaskier’s slightly greasy hair off of his face, shifting the longer, wispy hair of his fringe back. Jaskier gave a soft sigh, face relaxing slightly, which made the corner of Geralt’s lips twitch up. 

His amber eyes flickered over Jaskier’s face, taking in the bruised and slightly puffy right eye, the healing split lip, and to the hand shaped bruise around Jaskier’s neck. There were dark smudges under Jaskier’s eyes, proof of broken sleep…something which Jaskier would have been appalled to see before this had happened. He would have freaked out, squawking how he couldn’t be seen like this before dabbing some sort of oils under his eyes. 

Guilt swirled heavy and constricting in his stomach and Geralt reached out, carefully taking one of Jaskier’s hands in both of his own. He breathed out, calming at the feeling of Jaskier’s warm hand in his own, feeling Jaskier’s pulse thrumming against his fingertips. 

“You’re safe now, Jask,” he whispered, looking at Jaskier’s bruised and pale face. “I’m not going to let them hurt you ever again.”

Geralt breathed out, closing his eyes and just focusing on the sound of Jaskier’s steady heartbeat, the feel of Jaskier’s pulse flittering reassuringly against his fingers, the warmth of Jaskier’s hand in his own.

“I won’t let you go again,” Geralt promised lowly. “Everything will be okay now, Jaskier. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...there it is :P  
> The longest chapter yet for all of your amazing comments, so thank you!
> 
> ...I really don't like writing fight scenes, trying to work everything out...but hopefully that didn't seemed too rushed!
> 
> More feels and hurt and comfort to come!


	15. Long Overdue Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so, so much for all of the comments!! I'm completely blown away by them, so thank you!!

Geralt remained sitting by Jaskier’s side for hours, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on Jaskier’s face, ignoring as Yennefer came in and out of the room, checking over Jaskier’s wounds and reapplying the salve to Jaskier’s feet. Instead he focused on the light of the rising sun steadily pouring through the windows as it cast a warm glow on Jaskier’s face, bathing Jaskier’s skin in its golden glow. It also highlighted the dark bruises over Jaskier’s face, blossoming over Jaskier’s right cheekbone and slightly swollen, bruised and red right eye. 

Jaskier gave a soft sigh, shifting slightly as his nose crinkled up. Geralt straightened up as Jaskier continued to show signs of waking. Jaskier shifted his free hand up to cover his eyes, mumbling sleepily, as he tried to block out the rising sun. 

Geralt couldn’t help but give a small smile at that, reminded of the many times Jaskier did that when they were travelling together, doing whatever he could to get that extra moment of sleep. Geralt leaned forward slightly.

“Jaskier,” he murmured gently. “Jaskier, it’s time to wake up.”

Jaskier’s nose wrinkled up again at that and he shifted his hand, blue eyes slowly blinking open. Jaskier blinked, staring at Geralt, looking so uncertain.

Jaskier had awoken feeling warm and comfortable, still hazy with sleep, and had opened his eyes to squint in the bright sunlight after someone had called his name. Jaskier blinked, staring up at the figure cast in sunlight in front of him, his brain taking a moment to take everything in. Long, loose white hair haloed in sunlight, amber eyes staring down at him in concern. It took a little while for his sleepy brain to fully awaken and click. 

Geralt watched as Jaskier slowly woke up, listening to the slow, steady beat of Jaskier’s heart, watching as Jaskier’s blue eyes seemingly examined him.

Geralt wasn’t prepared to hear Jaskier’s heart suddenly begin to race, blue eyes widening in fear, before Jaskier shot up right, hand tearing out of Geralt’s grip, scrambling backwards to press against the headboard of the bed.

“Jaskier,” Geralt tried worriedly as he shifted forward, hands shifting upwards to show Jaskier he wasn’t a threat. Jaskier was still staring at him, eyes wide and breathing quickened. “Jaskier, you’re safe.”

Jaskier shook his head, burying his head in his hands. “No, no,” he whispered, worrying Geralt. “It’s just another trick. Just another trick.”

Geralt shifted to sit on the bed, reaching out to take one of Jaskier’s hand in both of his own, squeezing Jaskier’s hand.

“Focus on me, Jaskier,” Geralt rumbled quietly. “Can you feel my hands holding yours?”

Jaskier stared at his hand enclosed in both of Geralt’s larger hands, feeling the familiar sword calluses rubbing against his skin. 

Geralt carefully shifted Jaskier’s hand, shifting Jaskier’s hand to rest against his chest, making sure to press Jaskier’s hand above his heart.

“Can you feel my heartbeat, Jaskier?” Geralt continued quietly. “It’s slower than yours. You always said it helped you to sleep some nights.”

Jaskier’s breathing slowed and his gaze finally flickered up to meet Geralt’s. Geralt’s heart twisted when he saw the disbelieving, broken look in Jaskier’s blue eyes. Jaskier swallowed thickly once…twice…as he looked down over himself, taking in the blanket twisted around his legs and the finally realising that there was an absence of pain, a numbness covering his back and feet.

“This is real,” Jaskier whispered, reaching out with his free hand to carefully touch the mattress. “I-I’m not in the Nilfgaardian camp anymore?” 

Geralt shook his head, exhaling softly when he heard the tremble in Jaskier’s words. He gently squeezed Jaskier’s hand, still held within his own. He couldn’t bring himself to let go of Jaskier’s hand just yet. It was a reassurance that Jaskier was here, he was awake…and he was alive.

“No, Jask,” Geralt murmured. “Yennefer and I came for you, do you remember?”

“I thought it was a dream,” Jaskier breathed, somewhat hysterically. “I-I didn’t think I would be free again. I-I thought they’d take me to Nilfgaard a-and I’d never be able to get out a-and I would be _caged_ …”

“Shh, Jaskier, shhh,” Geralt crooned, pressing Jaskier’s hand harder against his chest. “It didn’t happen. You’re not going to go to Nilfgaard. You’re not going to be caged. I will _never_ let you be caged.” 

Jaskier gave a shaky, hysterical breath, nodding repeatedly. Geralt just stroked the back of Jaskier’s hand with his thumb, waiting for Jaskier to catch his breath. Finally, Jaskier calmed a little, though Geralt could still hear Jaskier’s heart racing within his chest, pounding loudly. Jaskier swallowed harshly once again, tongue flicking out to wet his dried and split lips. 

Jaskier’s gaze lowered to rest on his hand, still held in Geralt’s hands, still held to Geralt’s chest above his heart, and he swallowed once again.

“I-I thought you weren’t going to come for me,” Jaskier whispered, voice breaking. “After the mountain…you got your wish.” Geralt winced as Jaskier’s voice hardened, feeling Jaskier’s nails digging in slightly into his chest through his shirt. 

“Nilfgaard were going to take me off your hands forever. You would have gotten your wish. Life would have taken me away, so I wouldn’t mess up your life anymore.”

Geralt hated hearing the bitterness in Jaskier’s voice, hearing Jaskier’s voice break and shudder, filled with bitter, depressed emotions. Geralt shook his head as he shifted closer to Jaskier on the bed.

“Jaskier,” he tried to begin before sighing, squeezing Jaskier’s hand once again, not ready to let that one part of Jaskier that he had go yet. “You know I’m not good with words…”

Jaskier gave a bitter burst of laughter at that, before a harsh sob tore from his throat, trembles tearing through Jaskier’s lean frame. 

“But know that I mean it when I say that I was so wrong, Jaskier, I should have _never_ taken my anger out on you,” Geralt continued, voice quiet and even, trying to reassure and apologize to Jaskier. “Everything had just gone wrong…and you were the only one there, the only one I could take my rage out on…even though you did _nothing_ wrong and you were only trying to help.”

Geralt turned his own gaze downwards, unable to look at Jaskier’s face anymore, instead staring at the hand enclosed in his own. 

“Witchers…Witchers are meant to be alone. It’s what we were taught…but then you came and wriggled your way into my life and just didn’t leave,” Geralt gave a small huff of fond laughter, remembering the bard coming up to him Posada, bread in pants and all. “You became the one constant I had…one that never left, no matter what I said to you, what you witnessed. You saw me at my worst, when my eyes went black, which usually sends people running…but you stayed. You _always_ stayed.”

Jaskier shifted his hand, nails retracting from Geralt’s chest, but still it was quiet. Geralt could hear Jaskier’s heart beating, a bit quicker than usual, but slower than it had been previously. 

“I just…I just thought that even if I raged against you, that you’d still be there, like you’d always been…but I was wrong,” Geralt managed to get out finally. “You weren’t there when I got down from the mountain…and I knew I finally pushed too far, that I drove away the only friend I had.”

There was small hitch in Jaskier’s breathing and Geralt clenched his jaw. 

“And you said you weren’t good with words,” Jaskier whispered, making Geralt look up. Geralt barely had any time to brace himself before Jaskier threw himself at Geralt, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s neck and clinging tightly, shivering madly. Geralt wrapped his arms around Jaskier, being mindful of his back, and lifting one arm up so he could cup the back of Jaskier’s head, fingers lacing through Jaskier’s soft brown hair. 

“Still don’t forgive you, you horse's ass,” Jaskier muttered, making Geralt chuckle softly. “But…but thanks for coming for me.”

“No matter what, Jaskier, I will _always_ come to help you,” Geralt promised lowly. Jaskier gave a shaky breath, burying his face into Geralt’s neck as his hands gripped onto Geralt, one hand gripping a handful of Geralt’s hair. Geralt remained sitting, allowing Jaskier to keep clinging to him, knowing Jaskier just needed it, needed the reassurance. 

Jaskier’s heart was still fluttering in his chest, quicker than his usual heartbeat, and Geralt could hear the small hitches in Jaskier’s breathing, feel Jaskier’s back jump with muted sobs. 

“It’s all right, Jask,” Geralt murmured to him. “It’s going to be all right. I won’t let anyone hurt you. I won’t let Nilfgaard get anywhere near you again. You’re safe now, Jaskier.”

Jaskier gave a harsh sob against Geralt’s neck and Geralt just held him tighter, knowing that it was truly hitting Jaskier now that he was safe, that he was free. Geralt turned his head, burying his nose into Jaskier’s hair and breathing in his scent, just to reassure himself that Jaskier was here…and he was safe.

Geralt’s nostrils flared and he frowned when he realised that Jaskier’s scent wasn’t _right_. 

Under the everyday musk and sweat smell that one picked up, Jaskier usually smelt like buttercups – his namesake – and _happiness_ , which smelt like warmth and the smell of a spring breeze. 

Geralt could still smell the buttercups…but there was a cold bitterness to Jaskier’s scent now that caused Geralt’s nose to twitch uncomfortably. Geralt’s arms tightened around Jaskier at that, guilt settling deep within him. 

Jaskier had been hurt so much, was so scared, that he longer smelt _right_. He didn’t smell happy, he didn’t smell like _Jaskier_. The cold bitterness had overtaken that warm, happiness scent, changed by the fear and hurt that Jaskier had had to face. 

Geralt recognized the scent as one who had given up. He had smelt it so many times before, at Kaer Morhen before the trials, when he was out on the path…but he never expected to smell that bitter, cold scent on Jaskier, who was the epitome of light and cheerfulness…even to the point that Geralt just wanted to throw him in a lake. 

But this… _this_ wasn’t right…and Geralt swore to himself that he would make sure that Jaskier lost this bitter, hopeless scent. It wasn’t the bard. It wasn’t Jaskier. 

Jaskier went still in his arms, the sobs becoming harsh breaths, but still he clutched onto Geralt, not trying to move…and Geralt didn’t try to force him to move either, content to hold him, to help comfort him. 

Everyone always said that Witchers didn’t feel…but it wasn’t true. 

Witchers felt, they felt quite deeply, but they learned early how to lock their emotions away, to not let emotions affect them as it could mean their death while fighting a monster…but it wasn’t always that easy. 

It was easier to seem emotionless, to keep people away, but it didn’t mean that they didn’t felt. Geralt worried and feared, he cared and he loved…but he tried to keep it locked down. He didn’t always succeed, but he tried. 

Jaskier was one who got under his skin, who made him feel and who pushed Geralt’s boundaries. He was overly tactile and got Geralt used to being touched again. 

Geralt sighed at that thought, nuzzling into Jaskier’s head.

“Feeling better, little lark?” he murmured into Jaskier’s ear. Jaskier hiccupped but nodded against Geralt’s neck. Jaskier made no motion to move though and Geralt didn’t try push him. 

Jaskier always cared for him, even when Geralt grunted, snapped at him, insulted him or tried to push him away. Jaskier just pushed through it, cheery as always, with one or two well matched insults back, before he helped to treat Geralt’s wounds or wash his hair. 

He wasn’t going to push him aside anymore…not when Jaskier was so hurt and needed him. 

Geralt looked up as the door opened and Yennefer walked in, pausing when she saw them, with Jaskier basically sitting in Geralt’s lap, clinging tightly to him and Geralt holding Jaskier securely and protectively. 

“Ah, our puppy is awake,” Yennefer said. Jaskier took his face out of Geralt’s neck and Yennefer’s heart gave a weird twist when she saw Jaskier’s red, puffy eyes and tearstained cheeks. Yennefer walked over, settling herself to sit on the other side of the bed.

“How are you feeling, Jaskier?” Yennefer asked quietly. 

“Tired,” Jaskier mumbled, still clinging onto Geralt – who Yennefer was surprised to see looked quite comfortable with Jaskier up in personal space and clinging onto him. Yennefer nodded in understanding.

“After what you’ve been through, and with the blood loss, it doesn’t surprise me,” Yennefer said simply. “How’s your back and feet feeling?”

Jaskier blinked at her at that, chewing on his bottom lip. “Numb,” he finally answered, tilting his head. “Was that your doing?”

Yennefer nodded, reaching out slowly, as not to spook Jaskier, and gently examined the wounds on his back. Jaskier shivered under the touch and Geralt carded his fingers through Jaskier’s slightly greasy hair again, trying to soothe him. 

“It’s looking better than it was,” Yennefer told them. “Let me see your feet, Puppy.”

Jaskier shifted slightly before flushing when he realised he was just in his smallclothes. 

“Geralt…blanket,” Jaskier whispered to him, making Yennefer laugh. Geralt reached over and grabbed the blanket, pulling it over Jaskier's lower half.

“Relax, Puppy, I’ve seen it already,” she told him as she picked up his feet, examining the wounds on the underside. She nodded once she had finished her examination. “They’re healing,” she informed them. “Swelling has gone done, the bruising is starting to heal and the wounds are starting to scab. No sign of infection, even though that fucker made you walk on the grass and dirt.”

Jaskier shuddered at that, paling at the thought of Cahir. Geralt shot Yennefer a look, jaw clenched. Yennefer just arched an eyebrow in return, holding Geralt’s hard glare. 

“I’ll keep up with the salve, it’ll help keep the pain and infection away,” Yennefer continued, turning her eyes back to Jaskier. 

“Thank you, Yen,” Jaskier murmured quietly, sincerely, gaining a smile from her. 

“Of course, Puppy, couldn’t let them steal you away,” Yennefer told him with a sharp smile. Yennefer turned her gaze back to Geralt. “He needs another day or so of rest, but I wouldn’t plan on leaving it much longer than that. As much as I trust my sisters, I wouldn’t leave Ciri with them for too long. Tissaia’s a stern teacher.”

Jaskier’s head snapped up at that, looking at Geralt in shock as Geralt grunted in agreement, giving a rough laugh.

“Tissaia will be good preparation for Vesemir then,” Geralt said lowly. “I don’t plan on leaving her there for much longer. As soon as Jaskier is stable we’ll go.” 

Jaskier was still staring up at Geralt in disbelief, gaining a confused look from Geralt as he looked down to meet Jaskier’s gaze.

“What?”

“You…you do have Ciri,” Jaskier breathed. Geralt gave a slow nod, still unsure. “But…but you left her! To come get me!” 

“Of course,” Geralt said slowly, sounding confused. “You needed my help.”

“But Nilfgaard is after her!” yelped Jaskier. “S-She could be in danger! Cahir can’t get her! He murdered Eist and Mousesack!”

“Shh, Jaskier, shh,” Geralt soothed as Jaskier began to ramble on anxiously. “Ciri is safe. She is with trusted friends of Yennefer’s…and you know her trust isn’t to be taken lightly.”

Jaskier looked to Yennefer for clarification and she nodded, hoping to soothe the distress in his blue eyes. 

“Two mages I studied with, two that I fought with and trust with my life,” Yennefer told him, “and the mage who found me and brought me to Aretuza, who taught me. She fought with us against Nilfgaard…and she got me to safety afterwards.” 

“Mages,” Jaskier muttered, shaking his head, before looking to Yennefer again, biting his lip hesitantly. “You really trust them?”

“With my life,” Yennefer assured him. Jaskier gave a small nod, looking back to Geralt with wide eyes.

“Y-You found her though?” he whispered. “She’s safe…she’s okay?”

“Struggling after everything she’s seen and gone through,” Geralt said quietly. “She’s a fighter though. She’s tough and full of mischief. You’ll love her.”

Jaskier gave a weak smile, leaning back against Geralt, which made Yennefer turn her head away to hide her smile. 

“But you left her behind…for me?” Jaskier questioned again quietly, uncertain.

“Of course, Jaskier,” Geralt told him, voice low and firm as he grasped Jaskier’s hand. “I told you I would never leave you, that I would always come for you.”

“Always a damsel in distress, Puppy,” Yennefer couldn’t resist, gaining a scowl from Jaskier which lacked any heat. 

“Oh shut it, Yennefer,” Jaskier grumbled, burying his face back into Geralt’s neck.

“Well, it’s good to see you two have kissed and made up,” Yennefer shot, just to see Geralt splutter and Jaskier flush. 

“He still isn’t forgiven,” Jaskier muttered against Geralt’s neck. “Gotta prove he’s not gonna throw me away again.”

Yennefer caught the flash of pain cross Geralt’s face at that and decided to change the subject.

“Well, you’ll have to work on that then,” she said lightly as she got to her feet, “but for now, you definitely need a bath because you’re a bit ripe, Jaskier.” 

Jaskier gave a low chuckle, “Thanks, Yen. Always so _lovely_ to chat to you.”

She flashed him a smile before she left the room, going to prepare Jaskier a bath. She wasn’t kidding. He did smell a bit ripe for her liking. 

Geralt carefully helped Jaskier into the bath that Yennefer had prepared for him. He had wrinkled his nose at the almost overwhelming scent of herbs and flowers but Yennefer had just shot him a look, lips twisted in a frown, and snapped at him that everything in there was to help with Jaskier’s healing…but the flowers were for comfort. 

Geralt smiled at the relaxed sigh that Jaskier gave when he settled down into the warm water, though he kept his feet on the edge of the bath, unable to place his feet in the water. Jaskier looked up at Geralt for a moment and Geralt tilted his head when he heard Jaskier’s heart skip a beat.

“Did…did you want me to leave you alone?” Geralt asked, uncertain. Jaskier shook his head, still unable to meet Geralt’s eyes. Geralt settled down on a stool beside the bath, watching as Jaskier focused on washing his arms. 

Usually, when Jaskier was in the bath, he would be singing loudly or flirting terribly or humming along, trying to compose some dirty new song. 

He was never this quiet.

“Jaskier?” Geralt questioned carefully. “Are you sure you don’t want to be alone? You seem a little uncomfortable.”

Jaskier sighed, finally lifting his gaze to meet Geralt’s. “It’s not you,” he admitted quietly. “I’m used to bathing with you around…but…but when I was with Nilfgaard, Cahir took me to bathe in the river. He just sat there and watched and I could _feel_ his eyes on me, just looking at me so fucking intently. It made me feel so exposed,” he admitted quietly as Geralt struggled to hold back a snarl. 

“He won’t lay eyes on you again, I’ll rip them out the next time I see him,” Geralt promised, gaining a weak smile from Jaskier. 

Silence fell between them as Jaskier lay back in the bath, trying to relax in the blissfully warm water.

“C-Can you just talk to me?” Jaskier requested a few moments later. “I know you’re used to grunting…but can you talk to me about anything?” 

Geralt hummed lowly in his throat before he nodded. He usually didn’t like talking, too much noise in the world already…but here, in this quite home with just him and Jaskier sitting here…he didn’t mind. 

He told him about how he found Ciri and what had happened with them. He told him of how he taught Ciri to set a trap for small animals and how to check for edible plants and berries. He told Jaskier of the time that Ciri brought out her mischievous side so Geralt threw her into the nearby, shallow, creek. 

That story made Jaskier laugh, which made Geralt smile. 

His smile faltered as he saw Jaskier go to wash his hair before a spasm ripped through his shoulders and he hissed in pain.

“Jask?” Geralt asked in concern. 

“C-Can’t reach my hair,” Jaskier panted out, gripping the wooden edges of the bath so tightly with pain that his knuckles went white, his pallor paling.

“I’ll do it,” Geralt offered, “if you’re okay with it, that is.”

Jaskier nodded, still panting in pain. Geralt shifted the stool to the head of the bath, frowning at collections of oils and scents that Yennefer had set out next to the bath.

“Hmm,” Geralt grunted as he looked over the collection. 

This was definitely out of his range of knowledge.

Geralt frowned at that thought, looking to Jaskier. He remembered that Jaskier liked the flowery scents, ones that would leave his hair soft, which he always teased that the ladies just loved. 

Geralt opened the vials, sniffing them, before he found a flowery scent that wasn’t too overpowering. 

“Is…is this one okay?” Geralt asked, uncertain, as he showed Jaskier the vial. Jaskier nodded, smiling at him.

“Perfect, Geralt, thank you,” Jaskier murmured as he settled back down. Geralt took care with wetting Jaskier’s hair before he worked the oil in, fingertips pushing in and gently scratching at Jaskier’s scalp. He smirked, pleased, when he saw Jaskier’s shoulders loosening as he relaxed. 

“Lean your head back,” Geralt said quietly, watching as Jaskier did so without hesitation.

Despite everything that Jaskier just went through, despite the pain that Geralt caused him, he still trusted Geralt to take care of him.

It made something warm grow in Geralt’s stomach and he swore to make sure he kept that trust, to rebuild the relationship they once had. He knew that he had to redeem himself, to prove himself to Jaskier that he wouldn’t hurt him again. 

Jaskier found his eyes drifting shut as Geralt washed his hair, shivers running down his spine as Geralt massaged his scalp.

“Lean your head back,” Geralt’s voice said quietly from behind and Jaskier did so without a thought. Jaskier blinked at the realisation. 

He was still hurt by what Geralt said to him on the mountain…but he would still trust Geralt with his life.

Geralt may be tactless and not really know how to interact with others, but he would do all he could to protect others, even those who didn’t always deserve it.

Jaskier blinked open his eyes as he heard the stool move, seeing Geralt had shifted to sit beside the bath again, so he could see Jaskier’s face. 

Jaskier chewed on his bottom lip, fingers rubbing against one another as he thought about what would happen next. 

What was going to happen to him?

He couldn’t go with Geralt. He’d slow them down and put Ciri in danger…there was no way Geralt would want an injured, traumatised bard with him. 

“So,” Jaskier said, voice cracking and gaining Geralt’s attention. “W-What’s going to happen next?”

Geralt hummed as he leaned his arms on the edge of the bath, putting his head on Jaskier’s level so he could meet his eyes. 

“Well,” Geralt said thoughtfully. “We need to go get Ciri and my plan after that was heading up to Kaer Morhen before winter sets in and it becomes too dangerous to travel.”

“Oh,” Jaskier mumbled, a panic settling in his stomach. He couldn’t go to Kaer Morhen…Geralt never wanted him to go before. “W-What about me?”

Geralt blinked at that quiet, stammered question, amber eyes startled. 

“Jask, I want you to come to Kaer Morhen with us,” Geralt said, watching as Jaskier’s eyes widened in shock. “You’ll be safe there, with us…with me…”

“B-But…will it be okay?” Jaskier asked, voice small and unsure. “I-I mean, it’s your home.”

“I _want_ you there, Jaskier,” Geralt said firmly, amber eyes boring into Jaskier’s uncertain blues. “You will be welcome because you are my guest. I want you to come to my home, Jaskier. I want you with me.”

Geralt shifted his hand, grasping Jaskier’s and stopping the nervous tick that Jaskier had of rubbing his fingers together.

“Will you come with me and Ciri, Jask?” Geralt asked him quietly. “I promise I will keep you safe. No one will be able to touch you there…and once Spring comes, we can decide what we do next.”

Jaskier thought for a moment, looking at Geralt’s hand grasping his. Geralt had always told him that Kaer Morhen was one of the places that Witchers could relax. It was safe, even after it had been raided and sacked, the terrain had changed since that time, and traps had been set, making it near impossible for those who didn’t know the way to get there. It also got snowed in during Winter, making it impossible for anyone to come or go. 

He would be safe there. Cahir wouldn’t be able to find him, wouldn’t be able to get him, not with Geralt there…not with the other Witchers.

Jaskier looked up at Geralt, giving a weak smile and a nod, watching as warmth flooded Geralt’s amber eyes.

“When you are well, we will go get Ciri…and then we go home,” Geralt said, his voice a low, pleased rumble, almost like a purr. 

“Home,” Jaskier echoed, relaxing back into the bath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Jaskier is still a bit annoyed and hurt at Geralt for the mountain...but he's far too relieved to be safe at the moment :P
> 
> I've started playing Witcher 3 and I've already noticed that Geralt is a bit more talkative, and a bit more sassy and a softy, in that...so it made him opening up a little bit easier...


	16. Normality

Geralt helped Jaskier out of the bath once he noticed Jaskier’s eyes had been drifting shut. He settled Jaskier, wrapped in a large towel that he had found in Yennefer’s cupboards, on a soft, red armchair. Jaskier leaned back, blinking tiredly at Geralt as Geralt settled down on a stool in front of Jaskier, lifting up his legs to rest Jaskier’s feet in his lap so he could look over the wounds on his feet. 

Satisfied that the bath hadn’t irritated the wounds, Geralt left Jaskier’s feet resting on his thighs. He turned his attention back to Jaskier, seeing the bard was looking relaxed and boneless in the chair. His still slightly damp hair curled at his neck, apparently Geralt hadn’t dried it all that well, but he hadn’t wanted to hurt Jaskier by scrubbing too hard. Jaskier had just smiled tiredly up at him, cheeks flushed from the heat of the water.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said suddenly, breaking Geralt from his thoughts.

“Hmm?”

“I…I need clothes,” Jaskier said, sounding unsure, which twisted Geralt’s heart in an uncomfortable way. Jaskier was full of confidence, never uncertain, never cautious – and Geralt had wanted to strangle him so many times for that last one. 

“Right,” Geralt murmured, reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck. “Well, Yennefer burnt the clothes we found you in. Black…black doesn’t suit you, Jaskier,” Geralt admitted, unable to stop his mouth in time. Jaskier tilted his head when he heard that, blue eyes surprised as he stared at Geralt.

 _Great_ , Geralt thought with a sigh. He hadn’t meant for that to come out.

“I’m used to you wearing bright clothing,” Geralt explained quietly, hand shifting to rest on Jaskier’s ankles. “Seeing you in the black Nilfgaardian clothing…it wasn’t right. It wasn’t _you_. You always wore bright, detailed clothing, seeing you in that drab shit wasn’t right.” 

Jaskier gave a weak smile. “Guess I’ll have to buy more,” he murmured, and Geralt heard the hurt in his voice. 

Jaskier had always been proud of his clothing, making sure he picked the best outfits, the best colours, and made sure they were fitted to his build. 

And because of Nilfgaard, he’d lost everything he had. All of that work, all that he was…gone. 

Geralt gently stroked Jaskier’s knobbly ankles soothingly. 

“Maybe Yennefer can help get you something,” Geralt tried, gaining a tired laugh from Jaskier.

“Well, I suppose her taste isn’t too bad,” Jaskier replied, making Geralt chuckle lowly. 

“My taste in clothing is far better than yours, Puppy,” Yennefer stated as she swept into the room. Jaskier hummed low in his throat but said nothing, watching as Yennefer checked over the wounds on his feet again. 

“However, why were you speaking of my taste in clothes?” Yennefer asked as she walked to Jaskier’s side, coaxing him to lean forward so she could check his back. 

“Jaskier doesn’t have any,” Geralt answered, watching as Jaskier winced as Yennefer checked his back. Yennefer hummed at that before she swept from the room leaving as quickly as she came, leaving Geralt sighing and shaking his head as Jaskier stared after Yennefer, confused. 

“Did…did we do something wrong?” Jaskier questioned, voice wavering. Geralt rubbed at Jaskier’s ankles, shaking his head.

“No, that’s just how Yennefer is.”

Jaskier looked up as Yennefer came back in, arms laden with bags and…

“My lute!” Jaskier cried out, shocked, as he saw the familiar case. Yennefer handed the lute case over and Jaskier hugged it tightly to his chest, staring at in disbelief. Yennefer placed the other bags down, opening one of them up and pulling out a familiar forest green and gold doublet.

“Your clothes too,” Yennefer said as she held up the doublet, “because this certainly isn’t my colour.”

“My…my bags…but how?” he breathed. Yennefer placed the doublet back in the bag, closing it, before she turned to Jaskier, dark painted lips pulled into a frown.

“When we were searching for you, I was pulled towards your belongings because they contained so much of your essence,” Yennefer said before shooting Jaskier a look, fully expecting Jaskier to give a filthy retort. Her frown deepened when Jaskier just sat there quietly, staring at her. “Yes, well, I followed it into a tent,” Yennefer continued to explain, thrown by Jaskier’s unusual quietness. “There I found your bags being looked after by a young man, with kind green eyes and curly red hair.”

Jaskier’s head snapped up at that, breath catching, making Geralt look at him in concern. 

“Jaskier?” Geralt questioned worriedly, squeezing Jaskier’s ankle. Jaskier just stared up at Yennefer in disbelief. 

“Jon,” he breathed. “You met Jon…is he…did you…”

Yennefer shook her head as she leaned against the edge of the table, looking at Jaskier with soft, pitying purple eyes. 

“He’s fine,” Yennefer reassured him. “He wasn’t a threat…and he wanted to help. He handed over your things, didn’t raise the alarm, and told me to get you out.”

Jaskier sunk back into the armchair, hugging his lute tighter. Geralt looked between Yennefer and Jaskier.

“Who is he?” Geralt asked gruffly, not liking being out of the loop.

“Jon…Jon was the healer,” Jaskier explained, voice rough. “He was the one who treated my wounds when Cahir hurt me…and he was a decent person, not one I expected to serve with Nilfgaard.”

“I offered him a chance to escape,” Yennefer murmured, shocking Jaskier. “He said he couldn’t, that he was there to help the men.”

Jaskier nodded, looking back down at his lute case. Geralt didn’t like the sadness clouding Jaskier’s blue eyes.

“Jon was hurt by the Usurper,” Jaskier said quietly, almost too quietly for Geralt to hear. “He just wants to help. He’s kind and he cared for me. He was the only friend I had in that camp, who truly wanted to help me because that’s the person he was…not because I was useful or because of the plans they had for me.”

“Jask,” Geralt murmured, gently squeezing Jaskier’s ankle. Jaskier gave him a weak smile before he swallowed harshly. 

Geralt looked up at Yennefer, who was still frowning as she looked to Jaskier. Yennefer sighed before she leaned forward, capturing Jaskier’s attention once more. 

“Jon told me that he came to know you, that he saw your caring and loyal heart,” Yennefer informed him quietly, her purple eyes fixed on Jaskier’s blues. “That’s why he wanted Geralt and I to get you out, because you didn’t belong there, not to be caged.”

A choked sob caught in Jaskier’s throat and Geralt shifted so he was perched on the arm of the chair, able to pull Jaskier into his side. 

“Jon wanted me to tell you that he hoped that you find the home you’re searching for.”

The sob fully wrenched free of Jaskier at that and he turned to bury his face into Geralt’s side. Geralt carefully carded his fingers through Jaskier’s hair, looking to Yennefer, who was looking at Jaskier sadly. Geralt nodded to her and Yennefer inclined her head.

“I’ll go get some more salve and some bandages,” Yennefer said suddenly, voice soft. “Once your wounds are treated again, you can get dressed and be the bright, colourful peacock you always were, Puppy.”

Jaskier gave a shaky nod, still keeping his face buried in Geralt’s side. Yennefer reached out to gently touch Jaskier’s soft, slightly wet hair, before she got to her feet and left the room. 

Geralt looked down at Jaskier as Jaskier clutched onto his shirt with one hand, keeping the other clutched around his lute case. He could still smell the salty tang of tears, so he kept stroking Jaskier’s slightly damp hair. 

“You okay, Jask?” Geralt asked him quietly once the sobs had stopped. 

“I-I just…sorry,” Jaskier hiccupped as he pulled back, rubbing at his teary eyes. “I don’t know why I reacted like that.”

“You've been through hell, Jaskier...and he took care of you,” Geralt answered, shifting his hand to rest on Jaskier’s bare shoulder instead. “He was the one you could trust in that hellhole, one that didn’t have an ulterior motive.”

Jaskier nodded, looking at his lute before looking back to Geralt with a weak smile.

“And I wasn’t expecting to see this again,” Jaskier added with a shaky laugh, fingers drifting over the case. “So many memories with this, including our first adventure.”

“Hmm,” Geralt grunted, a small smile twitching at the corner of his lips. “When we got the shit kicked out of us by elves.”

Geralt smiled as Jaskier laugh, grinning back up at him. “Ahh, the first adventure of many…and a damn good song out of it, if I may say so myself.”

“Hmm,” Geralt hummed, gaining an elbow to the side for his troubles. Jaskier sighed and leaned back against Geralt’s side, comforted by Geralt’s familiar bulk and warmth. Geralt shifted so Jaskier could lean more comfortably on his side, pleased that Jaskier was relaxing and accepting that he was truly safe now. 

They sat in comfortable silence for a while before something that Yennefer said suddenly came to back to mind for Geralt, and he looked to Jaskier, who looked like he was beginning doze off.

“Jaskier?”

“Mm?” Jaskier mumbled sleepily, turning to nuzzle his face into Geralt’s linen shirt, soft from many wears. 

“The message that Yennefer had from the healer, Jon,” Geralt said slowly, carefully, “The one about you finding your home…what did he mean?”

Jaskier stiffened slightly before he sighed, slumping further into Geralt’s side. 

“A-After I attacked Cahir, I was confined to his tent,” Jaskier murmured. “Jon came to check on my wounds and to watch over me while Cahir was off doing something. We spoke…and things came up, about Nilfgaard, about what was going to happen to me.”

Geralt pulled Jaskier tighter against his side, trying not to growl at the thought of how close he was to losing Jaskier. 

“I told him I wanted to go home,” Jaskier’s voice broke and he turned to hide his face in Geralt’s side. “Jon asked where home was…and that’s when I realised that I didn’t know!”

“Jask,” Geralt tried, reaching up to thread his fingers through Jaskier’s soft hair. 

“I-I don’t know where home is, Geralt,” Jaskier whispered hysterically, fingers grasping on tightly to Geralt’s shirt once again, trying to ground himself. “I was disowned by my family because I wasn’t what they wanted me to be. I’m only known as Jaskier the Bard, the White Wolf’s Bard, at Oxenfurt and that’s all they care about! They don’t care about my stories, about me…you…you were the only one who didn’t expect me to be something _more_.”

Geralt blinked, confused, as he looked to Jaskier. 

He didn’t know what to say to that. Sure, he wanted Jaskier to be more aware, more careful…but he couldn’t imagine trying to change Jaskier from who he was. 

Seeing Jaskier so hurt and defeated was hard enough…but to see him completely changed, stripped of everything that made Jaskier _Jaskier_ would be unbearable. 

“You’re your own person, Jaskier,” Geralt finally said quietly to him. “That’s all you need to be.”

Jaskier gave a small huff at that, hot breath warming up Geralt’s side, even through the linen shirt.

“You have your home in Kaer Morhen, but I don’t have a place to call home,” Jaskier murmured finally. “That’s what Jon was talking about…me finding somewhere that was home.”

Geralt frowned at that, stroking Jaskier’s hair soothingly. “Kaer Morhen is home because it’s one of the places where I don’t need to be on guard all the time, somewhere where I can just relax and recover. Haven’t you felt that anywhere?”

Jaskier remained silent for a moment longer, seeming to consider something and hesitate.

“When I was travelling,” he said slowly, carefully, looking up to Geralt with sad blue eyes. “When we were travelling…it was the only time where I didn’t have to be Jaskier the Bard or Julian Alfred Pankratz the Viscount…I could just be _Jaskier_. I knew you had my back, that I was safe.”

Geralt looked up when he heard soft footsteps, seeing Yennefer was standing in the open door, though she had just stopped there, letting Jaskier talk. 

“Have you ever felt like anywhere was your home?” Geralt questioned him quietly. 

Jaskier thought back to the nights on the road, whether they were camping or in an inn, and remembered how _content_ he felt, how safe and happy he was, even during those bloody cold or ridiculously hot nights, just sitting there by the fire as Geralt either cooked their meals or sharpened his swords or tended to his armour while Jaskier either played his lute or tried to compose a new song, making Geralt roll his eyes fondly at some of the lyrics or even getting the occasional grunted remark about some of the lyrics, usually about the monsters or what had happened. 

But Jaskier couldn’t tell him that, not yet. He couldn’t bare his heart and soul to Geralt only to have it stomped on yet again later on. 

Jaskier just shook his head silently against Geralt’s side. 

Geralt frowned as Jaskier shook his head. He had seen Jaskier’s hesitation, as though he was considering something…but if Jaskier wasn’t willing to say what was on his mind, then Geralt wouldn’t push him until he was ready. 

Geralt looked to Yennefer who just fixed him with an arched eyebrow, pursed lips and a look within her purple eyes that promised pain if he didn’t fix this. 

“We’ll find out then,” Geralt promised him, shifting so he could get a hand under Jaskier’s chin, gently coaxing Jaskier’s head up so he could meet Jaskier’s sad gaze. “Perhaps…perhaps Kaer Morhen will become a home to you.”

Jaskier gave a weak smile and that was Yennefer chose to stride in, carrying the salve and bandages.

“All right, Geralt, out,” she ordered. “I’m going to treat his wounds and get him dressed.”

Geralt bristled at the order, clutching Jaskier closer to his side as he glared at Yennefer.

“I can help,” he grunted, daring her to argue. Yennefer happily took up the challenge as she set down the items on the table next to Jaskier. 

“You have dried blood all over you and you’re starting to smell,” Yennefer responded, turning up her nose at him. Geralt scowled at her before looking to Jaskier.

“Jask?” he questioned quietly. He would leave only if Jaskier said so, otherwise he would stay. 

Jaskier smiled weakly at him, giving a small nod. 

“S’all right,” Jaskier said quietly, looking to Yennefer. “I doubt you’ve eaten either since before you came for me.”

“Good point,” Yennefer agreed, looking to Geralt. “Go on now. Bathe, get changed into the clothes I’ve got for you and get something to eat. Jaskier will be safe with me.”

Geralt grunted but stood up, giving Jaskier one more look. Jaskier just smiled at him, giving a nod.

“And while you’re getting food for yourself, get something for Jaskier too,” Yennefer added on, smirking at him before her smirk faltered as she turned her purple gaze to Jaskier’s bare, bruised sides, taking in the small bumps of Jaskier’s ribs. “He definitely needs some decent food.”

Geralt nodded in agreement before he turned to leave, despite every part of him screaming at him to stay…but he knew that Jaskier hated it when he smelt like blood. 

Jaskier shifted uncomfortably as Geralt left the room, glancing nervously at Yennefer, who smiled at him reassuringly. 

“It’s okay, Jaskier,” she said, voice soothing, which made Jaskier lift an eyebrow and give a shaky, cheeky smile.

“Not used to you being so nice, Yen,” Jaskier retorted, getting a snort from Yennefer in return. 

“Oh, it’s not that easy with you, dear Puppy,” Yennefer laughed before her gaze softened, “but I think you need all the care you can get at the moment, hmm?”

Jaskier’s smile faltered at that and he gripped at the arms of the chair. 

“Come now, let’s get you ready before Geralt comes stomping back up here like an overprotective mother wolf,” Yennefer said, startling a laugh out of Jaskier.

“Mother wolf?”

“Oh, very much a mother wolf,” Yennefer informed him, grinning, as she eased Jaskier to lean forward so she could apply the salve onto the wounds on Jaskier’s back, applying it as gently but as thoroughly as she could. “Paces like one when someone he cares for is danger, ready to rip throats out to save them and growls when he feels like his pups are in danger, or have been insulted.”

Jaskier gave a small laugh at that, wincing as Yennefer wrapped up his back and midsection in bandages.

“Mother wolf…bet he loved hearing that,” Jaskier laughed breathlessly as Yennefer helped him ease back to lean against the chair before she moved to his feet to treat the wounds there. 

“Well, I haven’t told him that description yet,” Yennefer admitted with a sharp smile as she rubbed the salve carefully into the wounds on Jaskier’s feet. “I believe I would get the grunt and the grumpy, displeased look, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Oh definitely,” Jaskier agreed, grinning, knowing that was _exactly_ how Geralt would look. He could even imagine the set jaw and the furrowed brow. 

Yennefer finished wrapping up Jaskier’s feet, patting them before she stood up and headed to the bags next to Jaskier’s chair. She dug through them, humming thoughtfully as she looked through Jaskier’s clothes.

“Any colour in particular?” she asked him. “Or do you trust my taste enough to choose?” 

“You can choose,” Jaskier told her with a smirk. Yennefer pulled out a set of clothes, placing them aside before she straightened up, turning to Jaskier.

“I’m going to need the lute, Puppy, so we can get you dressed,” Yennefer said carefully, holding out her hands. Jaskier’s grip tightened on the lute case, which had been laying across his lap, before he nodded and reluctantly handed it over. Yennefer rested it against the armchair so it wasn’t out of Jaskier’s reach, before she handed him a fresh pair of smallclothes. 

“Can you shimmy them on under the towel or do you need help?” she asked him.

“I can do it,” Jaskier said quickly, face flushing. He wasn’t body shy…but there was something about Yennefer that made him shy at the thought of her seeing him naked. He took the pair of smallclothes, quickly pulling him on under the towel so Yennefer didn’t see anything. 

Yennefer just look amused by the notion, but said nothing as she organised Jaskier’s clothes. She looked to him, waiting for him to nod, before she held up the pair of pants, letting Jaskier see which outfit she picked.

“The purple one, should have expected you to pick that one,” Jaskier said with the shake of his head.

“Don’t like my choice?”

“No, no, I do,” Jaskier said quickly. “I mean, I bought that outfit in the first place.”

Yennefer hummed thoughtfully as she leaned forward, carefully helping Jaskier get his feet through the pants so they didn’t catch and hurt him. 

“All right,” Yennefer murmured. “I’m going to need to stand up. It shouldn’t hurt with the salve I put on and the bandages cushioning your feet,” she added when she saw the flash of uncertainty cross Jaskier’s face. “It’ll only be quick, just to get your trousers up and then we can sit you down again.”

Jaskier swallowed deeply, bracing himself before he nodded. Yennefer grabbed his hands, helping him upright, the towel slipped from Jaskier’s hips and pooling onto the floor around him leaving Jaskier in just his smallclothes. She held onto him for a moment, making sure he had his balance. Jaskier breathed out, giving a nod to Yennefer. Yennefer carefully let him go, making sure Jaskier wouldn’t fall backwards before she quickly bent down to pull Jaskier’s pants up, tying them closed securely so they wouldn’t slip down from where it sat on Jaskier’s thin waist. 

“How’s your feet?” Yennefer asked as she helped ease Jaskier back down to sitting down.

“Good…fine…” Jaskier breathed, giving a weak smile. “Good salve you made there, can’t feel a thing.”

Yennefer smiled as she picked up a light, white coloured chemise next, smoothing it out. 

“I do know a thing or two about healing,” Yennefer informed him, smirking. “Though your wounds have already begun to heal thanks to the potion that Geralt gave you.”

That got Jaskier’s attention and he tilted his head to the side curiously. “Potion?” 

“Yes, one of his Witcher healing ones that he made safe for you to take,” Yennefer explained as she helped Jaskier pull the chemise over his head, pulling him up slightly so Jaskier could tuck the ends into his pants. “It won’t give you Witcher quick healing, but it will make you heal a bit quicker. Already I can see the bruises are fading quicker and the wounds are beginning to scab.”

Jaskier frowned, looking lost in thought at that. Yennefer held up the purple doublet, taking in the gold threaded detail.

“Did you want the doublet?” she questioned. “Or is the chemise good for now? I mean, it's not like you have to preserve your dignity among friends.”

“This is fine,” Jaskier answered, blinking up at her. Yennefer nodded, tilting her head as she looked towards the door.

“Good, because I believe I hear Geralt stomping his way back up here,” Yennefer said with a roll of her eyes as she started cleaning up her supplies. Jaskier blinked in confusion, frowning.

“I can’t hear him…”

“Just wait for it,” Yennefer laughed softly. Sure enough, seconds later, Geralt appeared in the doorway, holding a plate loaded with food. He was clean of blood and wearing fresh clothing, which were just on the right side of being a little too tight.

“Told ya,” Yennefer said, winking at Jaskier, before she sauntered towards Geralt. “He’s fine, wounds are treated and are healing. One more night of rest and he should be ready for travel, though not by foot. Clothes suit you by the way.”

“They’re a bit tight…like last time,” Geralt grunted at her, gaining a laugh from Yennefer as she eyed him up and down.

“Oh, I know I’ve sized you just right.”

Geralt rolled his eyes and Yennefer swept past him, heading back out and giving them privacy. 

Geralt looked to Jaskier, relieved to see Jaskier looked a bit more like himself dressed in royal purple pants and a soft white chemise that was cut in a low v-shape, showing just a hint of Jaskier’s bruised chest. The bruised chest, face and the hand shaped bruise wrapped around Jaskier’s neck were the only signs that this wasn’t just another normal day, and that Jaskier had gone through a horrible experience. 

“The clothes do look a bit tight,” Jaskier told him with a grin, eyeing off the very fitted black shirt. 

“She does it to annoy me,” Geralt grunted as he walked over to Jaskier’s side. “You’re looking a bit more like yourself.”

Jaskier smiled tiredly up at him, head rolling back to rest against the soft cushion of the chair back. “I feel a bit more like myself.”

Geralt settled down on the stool in front of Jaskier before leaning forward, resting the plate in Jaskier’s lap. Jaskier looked down at the plate, seeing it overloaded with fruits, meats and bread. 

“It was all I could find,” Geralt told him, unsure. “Yennefer must have gotten it…but I wasn’t sure what you felt like.”

“This is fine, Geralt, thank you,” Jaskier told him, picking up a berry. “I don’t have much of an appetite at the moment anyway.”

Geralt hummed, not pleased with that, but he let it go. “Wait until you get to Kaer Morhen,” he told him as he reached forward to grab some of the meat. “Vesemir makes the best stew. No inn nor castle can compare.”

Jaskier smiled slightly as he listened to Geralt talk about Vesemir and the food he makes. 

“I look forward to it,” Jaskier told him, watching as Geralt’s amber eyes filled with warmth. 

“Well, Yennefer thinks you’ll be okay to move tomorrow,” Geralt told him as he grabbed a berry and popped it into his mouth. “We’ll go get Ciri, go stock up on winter supplies and then we head to Kaer Morhen.” 

Jaskier nodded, idly picking apart the bread in his fingers, deep in thought. He wasn’t sure how going to Kaer Morhen would go, what Vesemir and the other Witchers would think. 

“I do have to warn you,” Geralt said as though reading his mind. “Lambert can be a bit of a dick, but he’s harmless. All bark and no bite but Vesemir will keep him in line.”

Jaskier couldn’t help the small smile as Geralt described the other Witchers, his brothers in a matter of speaking. 

“Eskel is pretty calm, but he and Lambert can be giant assholes if they decide to team up,” Geralt explained, getting a low chuckle from Jaskier. Geralt calmed slightly when he saw Jaskier relaxing further in the armchair. 

Though part of him was not looking forward to the ribbing, judging, teasing and absolute shit that would come from Lambert and Eskel…he was looking forward to showing Jaskier around Kaer Morhen, to show Jaskier his home. 

At least Jaskier would be safe there. It would be a good place for Jaskier to recover and heal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So things are starting to wind down...however...there are a few more chapters left in this one annnd...
> 
> I have been thinking of a sequel to this...so, who would be interested in reading that?


	17. Helping Hands

Jaskier and Geralt sat together for a few hours as the sun slowly began to sink towards the horizon, just talking about small things, about their old adventures together, or sitting in comfortable silence. Yennefer had come in to eat dinner with them, having made quite a nourishing soup from what she had found with vegetables and herbs. Yennefer had made sure that Jaskier had eaten every last drop, eyeing off Jaskier’s leaner than usual frame and stating that there was undeniable healing properties in a warm, nourishing bowl of soup. 

Jaskier had given Yennefer a disbelieving look at that but Yennefer had just smiled and nodded, before insulting Jaskier playfully to get him to eat more. Once they had all eaten and Yennefer was satisfied that Jaskier had eaten enough, she had headed off downstairs, claiming she needed her beauty sleep.

“I’m pretty certain she put something in my food,” Jaskier said, looking to Geralt, who chuckled quietly. 

“Probably,” he agreed, “but somehow I don’t think it was anything bad…this time at least,” he added with a small smirk, just to hear Jaskier snort with laughter.

“I might get you to sniff out my food next time, just to make sure,” Jaskier told him, blue eyes alight with mischief.

Jaskier had settled back down into the armchair, looking relaxed, though he occasionally flinched when Geralt moved unexpectedly. Geralt made sure he didn’t move so suddenly after he realised why Jaskier was flinching, and tried to ease Jaskier’s mind by distracting him and telling him some of the stories from his youth at Kaer Morhen.

Jaskier had been delighted to hear the stories, staring at Geralt in pleased disbelief when Geralt brought up some of the pranks he and Eskel had pulled in their early days, before the mutations. Seeing the pure delight in Jaskier’s eyes made Geralt feel a little guilty that he had not told Jaskier these stories earlier, that he didn’t trust him enough to do so.   
Geralt had watched as Jaskier had every now and again touched his lute case, as though reassuring himself it was still there…but it surprised, and worried, Geralt when Jaskier made no move to take it out of the case, to play it, just to keep his hands occupied. 

Many a times Geralt had had to reach out to grab the front of Jaskier’s doublet, yanking him forward and out of danger, when Jaskier had been close to stumbling into a ditch or tripping over a log because he’d been so occupied in playing his lute, walking backwards so he could converse cheerfully with Geralt about the lyrics or trying to wheedle more details out of Geralt about a monster he battled.

He was broken out of his worrying thoughts when he noticed Jaskier’s head loll forward, eyes drifting closed. Geralt slowly got to his feet, watching as Jaskier jerked awake, blinking rapidly as he looked up to Geralt. 

“Come on,” Geralt murmured. “Let’s get you to bed. We’re leaving early tomorrow.”

Jaskier stared up at him with tired eyes before he sighed, nodding. “Always hated early mornings.”

Geralt chuckled and nodded. “Believe me, I remember.”

Jaskier smiled tiredly but shifted forward, allowing Geralt to bend down, scooping Jaskier into his arms carefully, being careful not to jostle Jaskier’s injuries too much.

“I could walk,” Jaskier grumbled tiredly against Geralt’s shoulder, but just curled up closer to Geralt’s chest anyway. “Yennefer’s salve is really good. Can’t feel any pain.”

“As good as it may be,” Geralt hummed as he carried Jaskier over to the bed, “your feet are still healing. The wounds need time to properly heal, even with the help of the salve and the potion I gave you. Staying off your feet as much as you can will help speed up the healing process.”

Jaskier just grumbled sleepily, making Geralt’s amber eyes warm with fondness as he stared at the bruised and beaten bard. 

Geralt carefully set Jaskier down onto the soft bed, watching as Jaskier gave a relaxed sigh and immediately snuggled down into the soft bedding.

“Want help to get changed?” Geralt asked him, unsure of what he should do, what he should say. Jaskier shook his head as he rested against the pillow, yawning. 

“Don’t have sleep clothes,” Jaskier mumbled sleepily. “These ones are comfortable.”

Geralt hummed but reached down to grab the soft blanket at the end of the bed, pulling it up to cover Jaskier, making sure he was warm. 

“Sleep well, Jask,” Geralt murmured as he rested a gentle hand on Jaskier’s head for a moment. He turned to the lamp, turning it down to cast the room in a low glow, but not quite extinguishing the flame, not wanting to leave Jaskier in a pitch dark room.

“Geralt?” Jaskier spoke up hesitantly as Geralt turned to leave. Geralt turned back to face him immediately.

“Jaskier?” 

“C-Can you stay with me, please?” Jaskier asked, voice quiet and blue eyes focused on his hands, curled up near his face. “I-I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to wake up alone…I don’t want to be back there.”

Geralt nodded, immediately coming back to the side of the bed. 

“Of course, Jaskier, of course,” he reassured him, before reaching up to unbutton the ridiculous shirt that Yennefer had given him. “Have to take this off, it’s too bloody tight.”

Jaskier rolled onto his side to face Geralt, snorting slightly at that and nodding. Geralt sat down at the edge of the bed to pull his boots off before he lay down, turning to face Jaskier. Jaskier immediately shuffled closer, pressing his forehead against Geralt’s chest. Geralt wrapped an arm around him, holding him close and feeling as the tension in Jaskier’s muscles slowly loosened as Jaskier relaxed in his hug. 

Jaskier felt the tension he didn’t know he was holding finally drift away, his body relaxing at the familiar bulk he was pressed again, breathing in Geralt’s familiar scent – musk and sword oil. 

He wriggled in closer to Geralt, feeling more than hearing Geralt’s chuckle as Geralt allowed it, carefully pulling Jaskier closer. It reminded Jaskier of the times they shared a too small bed in some dingy in, basically draped over each other or tucked tightly against each other’s sides so they both could fit. 

Sometimes it was Geralt holding Jaskier close or with Jaskier sprawled across Geralt’s chest…while other times it was Jaskier wrapped around Geralt’s back, snoring softly in Geralt’s ear. 

But either way…this was _familiar_ to Jaskier, this meant safety.

Jaskier shifted his head from where his forehead was pressed against Geralt’s chest, shifting so he could hear Geralt’s slow, steady heartbeat under his ear. The sound was soothing in its slow, familiar beat and for the first time in weeks, Jaskier found himself drifting into an easy, calm sleep.

Geralt buried his nose into Jaskier’s hair once he heard Jaskier’s heart beat even out, his breathing going heavy and even with sleep. He breathed in the scent of the oil he had used in Jaskier’s hair, the scent soft and pleasant…and familiar. He remembered all of the different scents that Jaskier wore, depending on the occasion, whether it just be simple yet sweet and clean for an inn performance or a more refined, elegant scent for the times that Jaskier either performed in a court or they were required to come into a court for the details of a job. When he was just travelling, in between towns, it was a simple, flowery scent, like buttercups…but one that wasn’t overwhelming to Geralt’s senses. 

Breathing in once more, Geralt let his eyes shut, finally able to relax knowing that Jaskier was safe and in his arms. 

The next day, Yennefer swept through the house like a hurricane, making sure everything was set for them to leave. Jaskier just sat on the bed, watching as she flew in and out of the room. Geralt just shook his head, going back to checking over Jaskier’s bags, making sure the clasps were securely shut. 

Finally Geralt stood back up, securing his sword – cleaned and cared for once he had woken up before Jaskier that morning – onto his back over his cleaned and dried armour. He picked up Jaskier’s boots, which had been buried in the clothes bag, and walked over to crouch beside the bed next to Jaskier.

“Need to protect your feet,” he told Jaskier as he held a boot out. “Even though Yennefer re-bandaged your feet this morning, it’s best to keep the bandages clean so nothing gets into the wounds.”

Jaskier just nodded silently, allowing Geralt to help him pull his boots on over the bandage.

“Okay?” Geralt questioned once they were on. Jaskier nodded.

“Yeah…fine,” Jaskier answered quietly, though he was looking down at the dark coloured boots with a frown. Geralt stared at him for a moment, concerned, but Jaskier didn’t seem to want to talk so he turned to pick up Jaskier’s bags, slinging them over his shoulder, settling the straps so they wouldn’t slip. 

Yennefer finally swept back into the room, her black skirt flicking out behind her as she came to stand beside Geralt, readjusting the bags on his back. 

“You’ll need to take Jaskier’s lute,” he told her, watching as Jaskier straightened. Yennefer nodded before taking the lute case, slipping the strap over her shoulder. She looked to Jaskier, seeing his eyes were wide and his back rigid and that he was chewing on his bottom lip as though he was nervous…or he was holding back on saying something.

“I’ll take the utmost care of it, Jaskier,” Yennefer promised him, watching as Jaskier’s shoulders relaxed minutely. Jaskier looked up to Geralt uncertainly.

“I-I can carry it,” Jaskier tried to persuade them. Geralt shook his head.

“You can’t walk yet, Jask,” Geralt told him firmly. “And I can’t carry you and your lute.” 

A flush spread across Jaskier’s bruised cheeks but he nodded, jaw clenching as he looked away. Geralt frowned at him, looking to Yennefer who just shrugged.

“Come on, we need to go,” Yennefer just said, though she also cast a concerned look at Jaskier. Geralt walked over to the side of the bed, crouching beside Jaskier and catching scent of the sharp scent of embarrassment. 

Suddenly Geralt understood and he sighed, reaching out to fix Jaskier’s purple and gold doublet, unbuttoning the top button, knowing Jaskier hated it when it was done up all the way. 

“It’s just because I don’t want to see you hurt any further, Jaskier,” Geralt told him quietly. “I know being carried might feel humiliating…but I’m only doing it because it’s necessary and I don’t want to see you hurt and in pain. I’ve seen enough of that these last couple of days.”

Jaskier finally lifted his head to meet Geralt’s gaze and he sighed, giving a small nod. Geralt nodded and stood up, reaching down to pull Jaskier into a bridal carry. He shifted Jaskier carefully, making sure Jaskier was secure. Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt’s neck, hiding his face into the side of Geralt’s neck, Geralt’s long hair tickling Jaskier’s nose. 

Geralt turned to Yennefer, who had been watching them with a soft look on her face, which she quickly changed back into her usual bitch-like stare when she realised Geralt was looking. 

“Come on,” she said shortly, turning and stalking from the room, though taking care that Jaskier’s lute didn’t hit the doorframe on the way out. Geralt just smirked, shaking his head.

“She’s ridiculous,” he murmured to Jaskier. “Tries to act like she’s heartless but she’s really not.”

Jaskier snorted against Geralt’s neck. “Bit like you then, huh?”

“Me?” Geralt questioned as he carried Jaskier from the room. 

“You always acted like you didn’t care, that you didn’t have emotions…but you cared more for those in need than most humans,” Jaskier explained quietly against Geralt’s neck.

“Hmm.”

“That’s why Yennefer calls you a mother wolf,” Jaskier said, a hint of mischief creeping into his tone. Geralt paused for a moment, stunned by that comment, before he continued on.

“She what?”

“Calls you a mother wolf,” Jaskier said lightly, though Geralt could feel his smirk against his neck. “Apparently you worry and growl and pace like one when any of your ‘pups’ are threatened.”

“And you’re a pup now?” Geralt asked, amused, as he walked outside. Jaskier huffed against Geralt’s neck in answer, which just made Geralt chuckle lowly with amusement. Yennefer turned to face them and Jaskier finally withdrew his face from Geralt’s neck as he looked out over the view, seeing the crashing waves of the ocean from the cliff they were standing on. 

“Looks like we did get to the coast…in a way,” Jaskier murmured which made Geralt wince, chest tightening in an odd, uncomfortable way. 

“Mmm,” Geralt just hummed non-committedly, unable to voice an answer to that, unsure of what he would even say. He looked to Yennefer, who was staring at them, eyebrow raised and arms crossed impatiently.

“Ready?” she questioned. Geralt nodded and Yennefer turned again, hand out. The portal formed in mid-air, the air swirling quickly. 

“Go,” she ordered them, voice firm. Geralt quickly moved forward, feeling Jaskier brace himself, burying his face back into Geralt’s neck, not a fan of travelling by portal. Geralt stepped through the swirling vortex, breathing out when he stepped out into the familiar forest land, in front of the familiar cottage surrounded by colourful flowers and herbs. 

“We’re here,” Geralt murmured to Jaskier, feeling Jaskier’s heavier breaths against his neck, knowing portal travelling didn’t quite agree with Jaskier – but then again, portalling didn’t agree with anyone except for mages…even Geralt wasn’t a fan. 

Jaskier pulled his face out of Geralt’s neck, blinking as he stared at the quaint cottage surrounded by bright colourful, sweet smelling herbs and flowers.

“Huh,” was all Jaskier managed to say, stunned by the sight. 

There was a familiar nicker and Jaskier quickly turned his head towards the sound, seeing Roach standing in a grassy patch, reins tied to a nearby tree branch. Roach whinnied loudly again, pawing at the ground as her head bobbed up and down. 

“Easy, Roach,” Geralt crooned. Jaskier pushed at Geralt’s chest, wriggling in his hold. 

“Geralt, please, let me down,” he pleaded.

“Jask…” Geralt started to say, trying to protest for the sake of Jaskier’s wounds, but Jaskier just looked up at him, eyes wide and pleading. Geralt stared at him before he sighed, helping Jaskier to stand, though he kept a hold on Jaskier’s sides, trying to help keep most of the weight off of Jaskier’s feet. 

Jaskier just ignored him, stumbling towards Roach, heart pounding in his chest. He stumbled to her side, throwing his arms around her neck and burying his face into her mane. He felt the familiar soft hair of Roach’s coat rub against his face and he broke…sobbing into her neck. 

Roach whinnied softly in his ear, craning her neck around so she could try and nibble his hair fondly. 

“Oh, Roach, dear one,” Jaskier sobbed into her neck. “I’m so glad to see you! I’ve missed you, sweet girl!” 

Roach just huffed in his ear, but made no move to get away or get Jaskier away, instead trying harder to fondly nibble at his hair, gently bumping her head against his.   
Geralt just stood back, uncertain, as he watched, hearing Jaskier’s soft sobs against Roach’s neck. Yennefer watched for a moment before she headed inside the cottage, giving Jaskier some privacy. 

Jaskier held onto Roach, relief flooding through him as he hugged her. He didn’t think he’d ever see this fussy, protective, but sweet horse ever, ever again…but here she was, alive and one piece.

With a sniffle, Jaskier shifted so he could press his forehead against Roach’s long nose, gaining a slight, affectionate head bump, making him give a watery smile.

“You’ve kept him out of trouble, huh, sweet girl?” Jaskier whispered to her as he stroked down the rest of her long nose, right down the stripe where Roach loved being stroked the most. “You always were the smartest out of all of us.”

Roach gave an agreeing huff, making Jaskier laugh softly before he closed his eyes, pressing a kiss to her nose.

“I have missed you, sweet, brave, Roach,” Jaskier murmured as he pulled back, watching as Roach’s ears flicked at the sound of his voice. 

“She’s missed you too,” Geralt spoke up, his sudden gruff voice making Jaskier startle. “She’s been very grumpy with me since…well, you know,” Geralt trailed off, chest tightening uncomfortably again when he remembered the last time he had seen Jaskier before all of this...remembering what he had said to him. “After the dragon hunt.”

“She’s a smart girl,” Jaskier said simply, smiling at Roach.

“I think she missed all of the apples and sugar cubes you kept feeding her,” Geralt said with a low chuckle. “She did miss you though, Jaskier, truly. You’re one of the very, very few people she likes and doesn’t try to bite.”

Jaskier smiled weakly again, leaning up against Roach’s side, taking the weight off of his feet when he saw the pointed look that Geralt gave him. 

“GERALT!”

Jaskier’s head quickly snapped to the side at the cry, seeing an ashen haired child…almost a teenager, sprinting from the cottage towards Geralt. He watched, shocked, when the girl threw herself at Geralt, flinging her arms around his waist. Jaskier was even more shocked when he saw Geralt wrap his arms around her, hand coming up to stroke at her hair like the act was natural to him.

“You’re okay!” she squeaked into Geralt’s chest. 

“Fine, Ciri, we’re all safe,” Geralt murmured to her, looking to Jaskier, who was still staring, wide-eyed, at Geralt’s Child Surprise. Ciri looked up to Geralt, seeing he was looking away and turned to follow his gaze. 

Her emerald-green eyes widened as she looked upon Jaskier.

“Jaskier!” she breathed before letting go of Geralt and hurrying over to Jaskier before Geralt could stop her. She stopped just before the bard, eyes catching sight of the bruising around Jaskier’s throat and across his face. Jaskier gave her a small smile.

“Hello, Princess,” he greeted. “It’s been a while.” 

Ciri looked at him hesitantly and Jaskier opened up his free arm.

“Gentle with me, Princess,” Jaskier told her quietly with a weak, half smile. Ciri nodded before she hurried forward the last two steps, wrapping her arms around Jaskier and hugging him, burying her face against his chest.

“I remember you now,” Ciri whispered brokenly against his chest. “Y-You played music and sang at events, at my birthday. I remember you were having a break a-and I wanted to hear more music, so you just sat down and started playing and singing to me…I-I remember…”

Jaskier smiled sadly, looking up at Geralt over Ciri’s head, seeing Geralt staring at Jaskier in disbelief. He had heard what Ciri had said…and he had no idea that Jaskier had gone back to Cintra after that fated betrothal night or that Jaskier had met Ciri. 

“You always told the best stories,” Ciri laughed against Jaskier’s chest. “Grandmother didn’t really like you, but Eist did…and so did Mousesack.”

Jaskier winced at that and held Ciri closer. “Your grandmother was just trying to protect you…and I knew too much, I was friends with the Witcher who claimed the Law of Surprise – you – and I think she feared I would take you away or be the reason you were taken away. Eist had a wicked sense of humour, that’s why we got along…and…and Mousesack was a good man, a very good man.” 

Ciri just nodded against Jaskier’s chest, her grip around him tightening somewhat. 

“Geralt!” Yennefer’s voice suddenly rang out, sharp as a whip. “Why is Jaskier standing on his wounded feet?!” 

Jaskier winced. “Busted,” he muttered as he looked to Roach, who huffed with annoyance. “Sorry, Roach, dear girl.” 

Ciri let go of Jaskier, backing up as she stared up at him with large, sad eyes. Geralt just moved forward to pull Jaskier back into his arms, hearing Jaskier sigh as his feet were lifted from the ground. 

“He wanted to see Roach,” Geralt said in lieu of explaining.

“Yes, I saw that…didn’t quite understand it, but I saw,” Yennefer growled at him as she stalked over. “However, I do not understand why you left him on his feet for so long!” 

“Yennefer, I’m okay, really, no damage done…I didn’t walk too far,” Jaskier said quickly, unease flashing across his face at Yennefer’s annoyed tones. Yennefer looked at him, seeing a flash of panic in Jaskier’s eyes, and sighed, forcing herself to back down. 

“Ah, so what’s all of this fuss about?” 

Jaskier stiffened in Geralt’s grip as three women came out of the cottage behind Yennefer.

“They got Jaskier back, Tissaia!” Ciri exclaimed with a smile before it faltered. “But he’s been hurt.”

Geralt’s nose twitched, catching the faintest scent of fear and unease from Jaskier.

“Jask?” he rumbled in concern, looking at the bard held in his arms, and catching sight of Jaskier’s slightly pale face.

“No more fucking mages,” Jaskier whispered, gaze fixed firmly on the trio. “I-I can’t…no more… _please_.”

“That fucking Fringilla!” Yennefer hissed under her breath, turning to look at Tissaia, Triss and Sabrina. “She decided to torture him with hallucinations, doubles, to give him hope and take it away.”

“Definitely seems like her,” Tissaia said, looking at Jaskier curiously.

“Jaskier, it’s okay,” Geralt tried to reassure him. “You know I don’t trust easily, but Yennefer trusts them with her life and they came to look after Ciri, to protect her, despite what dangers it put them in.”

Jaskier shuddered, chewing on his bottom lip as he looked at him.

“I promise you, Jaskier, we will not harm you,” the one with curly brown hair said, voice soft and gentle as though she was trying to calm a spooked animal or fearful child. “My name is Triss.”

Jaskier blinked at that, recalling a memory, a story that Geralt once, very grudgingly, told him.

“You’re the one who helped Geralt with the striga,” Jaskier said, looking to Geralt for confirmation. Geralt nodded. 

“She refused to give up on the Princess…and she saved my life,” Geralt told him gently. Jaskier looked back to Triss, who smiled warmly at him, kind brown eyes sparkling. That made him look at Triss a bit differently.

He had never met a mage with eyes as warm and as kind as Triss. 

“I’m Sabrina,” the blonde one introduced herself with a small smile. “I like your songs.” 

Jaskier gave a weak smile at that, still not quite trusting them…but he trusted Geralt and if Geralt trusted them then…well…Jaskier would trust Geralt to protect him.

The older one frowned as she came closer, blue eyes fixed on Jaskier curiously.

“This is Tissaia,” Yennefer introduced, frowning as she watched Tissaia slowly approach Jaskier. “She found me and taught us everything we know.”

“Great,” croaked Jaskier. Of course the powerful, creepy head mage would be here...of course. “Just great.”

Tissaia’s frown deepened and she tilted her head with a considering look in her eye.

“It wasn’t only Fringilla who caused this… _uneasiness_ around mages, was it?” Tissaia asked him, voice careful yet oddly gentle. 

“Yennefer grabbed me by the balls and held a knife to my throat first time we met,” Jaskier said as he shrunk back further against Geralt, who tightened his grip on Jaskier protectively, glaring at Tissaia.

“Of course you did, Yennefer,” sighed Sabrina, shaking her head. Yennefer just shrugged, unrepentant. 

“No, no, that’s not it,” Tissaia murmured, eyes darting over Jaskier. “I can sense a greater magic on you. Some would call it a blessing, others a curse…but I recognize the signature of the one who cast it.”

Jaskier stiffened in Geralt’s arms, staring at Tissaia. “You can recognize…?”

“Every mage has their own signature,” Tissaia explained, still staring unblinkingly at Jaskier. “It attaches to every spell cast, every potion brewed…it can determine who cast what, if you know what to look for. As it so happens, I taught this one, a long time ago, but she...well, she was _possessive_. No Lord or King would take her to be their Mage, seeing that in her, and she was cast out...though so foolishly left unwatched," Tissaia finished bitterly, sounding as though she had argued against that decision but it had been taken from her hands.

Jaskier swallowed, heart racing in his chest.

“Jaskier, what curse?” Geralt asked, concerned for his friend. He didn't know if Jaskier had been in pain or been forced to live a life he didn't want and he was worried. Jaskier floundered for a moment before he looked up at Geralt, resigned.

“Geralt, I’ve known you for over a decade now,” Jaskier said, eyes and voice oddly flat. “Didn’t you wonder why I never aged?”

Geralt stared at Jaskier, all of the years suddenly blurring and yet pieces of a puzzle that Geralt never once considered fell into place. Geralt aged slowly and the years tended to blend together after a while…but he couldn’t believe that he never noticed that Jaskier just didn’t seem to change at all.

“A witch became enamoured with me and trapped me,” Jaskier explained quietly, no use trying to hide it. “She was obsessed with collecting ‘ _beautiful things_ ’ and decided that I – starving, cold, penniless after just running away from home – would be a new piece for her collection…but she feared me aging and losing my beauty and my musical talents, so she cast some sort of spell on me that slows down my aging substantially.” Jaskier shuddered and buried his face into Geralt’s shoulder armour. “It hurt…so, so much.”

“That sort of spell, when cast on the unwilling, does hurt,” Tissaia said, voice gentle. “How did you get away?”

“Another one of her ‘ _beautiful creatures_ ’ attacked her, it weakened the magic and the wards holding us all there and I took the chance to run,” Jaskier muttered, shuddering once again, remembering the fear, the blood coating the floors and walls, the horrific screams, the choking smoke from the flames as the manor burnt to the ground, and the absolute terror and desperation coursing through his veins as he ran, heedless of the others who fought each other around him. 

“Could the spell be undone, if one wanted?” Sabrina questioned suddenly.

“No, not one like this,” Tissaia answered as she stepped back away from Jaskier, giving him the space he so desperately needed. “It would kill him, force him to age quicker in order for nature to correct itself.”

Jaskier shuddered in Geralt’s arms and Geralt fought the urge to pull Jaskier even closer, to tuck him away from the mages’ pitying sights. Instead, he turned his attention to Ciri.

“Get your things,” he said gruffly. “We need to start moving.”

“And where do you think you’re rushing off to?” Tissaia asked him, hands on hips. “Cirilla needs training, she needs _guidance_.”

“Which she’ll get at Kaer Morhen,” Geralt snapped back as Ciri ran inside to gather her things. “She’ll get training, learn how to protect herself.”

“Yes, yes,” Tissaia sighed, waving her hand dismissively. “But who will help teach her _control_? Who will teach her and guide her when it comes to using her powers? If left unsupervised, unguided, those powers of hers could manifest and cause mass destruction. It has already killed to protect her.”

“It was an accident,” Ciri’s small voice said from near the cottage. She stood there, clinging onto her bag, looking small. “T-They were going to hurt me…a-and I don’t know what happened.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Ciri,” Geralt reassured her, flashing a heated look at Tissaia, eyes narrowing at her for daring to bring that painful event up for Ciri. 

“No, it wasn’t…but this is why her powers need to be guided, to be taught, so she can be better in control of them,” Tissaia continued firmly, not willing to be swayed.

“She has a point, Geralt,” Yennefer added on when she saw the stormy look on Geralt’s face. “Ciri will need guidance…for her sake.”

Geralt looked from Yennefer to Ciri and back before he sighed, shaking his head. 

He really didn’t have the energy to argue…and something deep inside him told him that Ciri would need the help, for her sake, safety and sanity. 

“Fine,” he grunted. “Yennefer, you can come.”

“Now hang on, Geralt,” Triss said as she walked to Ciri, wrapping a caring arm around Ciri’s shoulders before leading Ciri back to the others. “Cirilla will need all the teachers she can get, especially since if one of us disappears without a trace, it will surely tip Nilfgaard off.”

Geralt looked at Triss with unease. “What are you implying?”

“That we set up a rotation to teach Ciri,” Triss explained. “That way none of us are gone for too long and we can all help Ciri further with our specialities.”

“Not to mention we’re not letting you take a young girl to some Witcher keep that was sacked once before, without seeing the conditions she’ll be living in, making sure she’s safe,” Sabrina added on. Geralt looked between the four mages as they flanked Ciri, desperately wishing he could rub his face in exasperation.

“I don’t think you’re going to win this one, Geralt,” Jaskier murmured suddenly, gaining his attention. Geralt looked down to Jaskier, seeing he looked resigned. Jaskier looked back up at him and smiled weakly.

“Besides, they have a point…and if Ciri’s power is anything like Pavetta’s was, well, you’re going to need all the help you can get,” Jaskier said quietly. Geralt let out a small exhale and nodded.

“Fine,” he finally grunted, “but don’t expect a warm welcome…and if Vesemir doesn’t agree to your reasonings and tells you to leave, then you **leave**.”

“Fine,” Tissaia agreed. 

“Let’s go then,” Geralt said grouchily. “I’d like to get there before winter sets in. Supplies to buy, trail to hike…before the snow begins to fall...and that day is fast approaching.”

“We can just portal there,” Sabrina suggested as Geralt walked back towards Roach, carrying Jaskier in his arms. 

Geralt looked over his shoulder with a feral grin. “Not if you want a dagger between your eyes the moment you step out of it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had hoped to have them on the way to Kaer Morhen by now, but this chapter just got away from me haha
> 
> Ciri now has a 'mum squad' watching her back :P
> 
> So next chapter, the journey to Kaer Morhen begins...and then more chapters to follow ;)


	18. Supplies

Jaskier stared down at Geralt uncertainly as he shifted around in the saddle on Roach’s back. He never got to ride Roach unless he was pretty much dying, like with the djinn, or Geralt had taken pity on him and had pulled him up sit behind him…but he had never sat on Roach by himself before. 

“Are you sure I should be up here?” Jaskier asked nervously. Geralt looked up at him in disbelief from where was standing beside Roach, securing Jaskier’s lute to her packs. 

“You can’t walk, Jaskier,” Geralt explained. “And Roach likes you.” 

Jaskier reached out to pet Roach’s mane, still uncertain about this. “Yeah…but…”

“No buts,” Geralt cut him off with a stern look as he took Roach’s reins. “Stay on Roach’s back.” 

Jaskier sighed, but relented as Geralt turned his attention to Ciri. He patted Roach’s neck, giving a small smile.

“Well, at least you’ll look after me, right, Roach?” Jaskier murmured quietly to her. Roach’s ear flicked back at his voice and she gave a huff. “Still feels weird though…Geralt’s crazy protective over you.”

“I heard that,” Geralt spoke up, glancing back at Jaskier with a smirk. Jaskier rolled his eyes.

“Maybe I wanted you to hear it,” Jaskier said simply, making Geralt snort. Jaskier went back to stroking Roach’s neck as the mages approached. He still felt uncomfortable around them, despite Geralt seeming to trust them at the moment…but at least he was out of their reach on Roach’s back. She wouldn't let them approach. She was smart that way, the clever horse.

“If we can’t portal to Kaer Morhen, can we at least portal somewhere close?” Sabrina asked as she stopped beside Geralt. “We can save time on some travelling at least.”

Geralt inclined his head, conceding to that as he readjusted the cloak around Ciri’s shoulders. 

“Kaedwen,” Geralt answered shortly as he turned to readjust the bags across Roach’s flank. “There’s a town near the Blue Mountains which is where we need to stock up on supplies. Once the snow falls on the path, there will be no returning until it thaws.”

“For you, maybe,” Yennefer drawled, raising an eyebrow. Geralt grunted at her before looking up at Jaskier. 

“Ready?” he asked him quietly. Jaskier nodded, glancing at the mages as they spoke quietly between one another. Jaskier sighed, looking back to Geralt.

“Yeah, I think once we’re away I’ll be better,” Jaskier admitted quietly. “Further away from Nilfgaard, the better I’ll feel.”

Geralt nodded in understanding, glancing to the side as Ciri came to stand beside him, gently touching the soft material of Jaskier’s purple pants. 

“We’ll be safe soon,” Ciri reassured him. “Geralt won’t anyone near us.” 

Jaskier smiled weakly at Ciri’s firm, stubborn reassurance and nodded his head. 

“Of course, Ciri.” 

“Everyone ready?” 

Geralt pulled his gaze away from Jaskier’s pale and bruised face at the sound of Tissaia’s voice. He looked at the stern rectoress and nodded.

“Whenever you are,” he responded shortly, tightening his hold on Roach’s reins. Ciri’s hand slipped into his free hand, surprising him, but as he looked down at her, he could hear her heartbeat had sped up ever so slightly. He gently squeezed her hand in reassurance, mirroring how Jaskier used to squeeze his shoulder or arm when Geralt had been tense from a monster fight or after he had been abused by humans – trying to pretend like it didn’t affect him, but never quite able to hide it from Jaskier. 

Jaskier used to squeeze, just a small squeeze, just to show Geralt that he was there, by his side, and he wasn’t leaving. 

Tissaia turned, back straightening, before she conjured a portal. Triss and Sabrina stepped through immediately. 

“Ciri, why don’t you step through with me?” Yennefer asked lightly as she looked between Geralt and Roach, with Jaskier perched on Roach’s back. “That way Geralt can focus on getting Roach through without her panicking, especially since Jaskier’s on her back.”

“Thanks for that thought, Yennefer,” Jaskier said, looking at Roach nervously, as though she’d panic at the sight of the portal and throw him off. 

“Roach will be fine,” Geralt reassured Jaskier, shooting an unimpressed look to Yennefer.

“If you could hurry…” Tissaia snapped at them as she focused on keeping the portal open. Ciri looked up at Geralt once more before her gaze drifted to Jaskier. She straightened up and nodded, letting go of Geralt’s hand to go stand beside Yennefer. Yennefer placed a careful hand on Ciri’s shoulder before walking her through the portal. Geralt looked back up to Jaskier, who entwined his fingers into the silky strands of Roach’s mane. Jaskier breathed in a steadying breath before he nodded to Geralt. 

“Come on, Roach,” Geralt said gently. “Easy, girl, easy.” 

Geralt carefully led Roach through the portal, keeping a tight grip on her reins so she didn’t panic and try to buck Jaskier off. Roach seemed to understand the importance of keeping calm though, knowing that the rider on her back needed to be protected. She followed Geralt calmly through the portal. Geralt turned to her once they had passed safely to the other side, feeling the cold wind whip past him, signalling the quickly approaching winter. 

Geralt patted her neck as Jaskier groaned, leaning over to press his head against Roach’s neck. 

“I hate portalling,” Jaskier groaned against Roach’s neck. Geralt nodded in agreement as he stroked Roach’s neck.

“Good, Roach, you did good,” Geralt murmured to her, gaining a headbutt to the chest in return. 

“You done loving on your horse?” 

“She makes good conversation,” Geralt shot back as he turned to face Yennefer, who was still standing beside Ciri, but who was now tucked tightly against Triss’s chest, tight in her embrace. Triss had half draped Ciri in her own fluffy cape as Ciri shivered against Triss’s chest. 

“Which way is this town?” Tissaia asked as she looked down the travelled dirt road they had portalled onto. 

“Just down here,” Geralt grunted, nodding down the road. “Ciri goes by Fiona when we’re in populated areas,” he informed them, eyeing them all warningly. 

“We’ll make sure we get you a nice, warm wardrobe,” Triss promised as they began the walk down the road.

“Functional,” Geralt growled from behind them, making Triss laugh.

“Of course, Geralt, of course,” Triss laughed, before leaning down to Ciri conspiringly. “Doesn’t mean it can look great though.”

Geralt sighed heavily, looking up to Jaskier, who just smiled at him tiredly. Jaskier shivered slightly and Geralt frowned, watching as Jaskier wrapped his arms around his middle. He shrugged off his cloak and held it up to Jaskier. Jaskier just stared at it for a moment.

“Take it,” Geralt told him firmly. “You need it more than I do.”

“Geralt…” Jaskier tried to protest.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, a slight growl lacing his tone. “Take it. I’ll be fine until we get you a new cloak in town. I’ve faced colder climates in thinner clothing than this. I’ll be fine, but I don’t want to see you shiver. I'll take it back once we get you a new cloak in town,” he added, just so Jaskier would concede to the point and stop trying to argue.

Jaskier sighed, resigned, before taking the cloak and wrapping it around his shoulders. He pulled the body-warmed heavy cloak close around him, burying his nose into the coarse material. He could smell Geralt on the cloak, the usual sweaty and smoky smell and the smell of the sword oil that Geralt used. There was also a scent of something sharp that made Jaskier’s nose twitch slightly. He remembered the scent being one of the potions that Geralt used. 

He breathed out, still keeping his nose buried in the material, safe from the biting wind, and felt himself relax under the weight and warmth of the cloak. He looked up at the dreary grey sky, sighing heavily at the sight of it. 

Grey and dreary…it reflected his mood. 

Despite being safe, despite knowing he was safe…he just didn’t feel like his old safe. Everything felt grey and flat as though the light had drained from the world. Jaskier shuddered at that thought, reaching out entwine his fingers through Roach’s mane once more, feeling the silky strands and focusing on the feel, letting that ground him from his morose thoughts. 

Geralt frowned as he watched the emotions flicker through Jaskier’s eyes as Jaskier turned his gaze towards the grey sky. Jaskier’s blue eyes suddenly went flat and dull, which made Geralt’s chest tighten in an uncomfortable way. He was used to seeing light and mischief sparkle in Jaskier’s eyes. He wasn’t used to seeing Jaskier’s eyes so flat and lifeless.   
Geralt turned his attention back on the road and on the mages in front of him, unable to see Jaskier’s lifeless eyes anymore. 

He would do all he could to make sure that the light returned to Jaskier’s eyes, he vowed to himself. Jaskier deserved to have a life filled with happiness and laughter and song…and somehow, Geralt knew deep down, Jaskier found all of that when he was travelling, when they were together. 

He hoped that Jaskier would find peace within the controlled chaos that was Kaer Morhen during the winter months. 

Geralt lifted his head when he heard the sounds of the town drifting towards them on the wind. 

He saw Ciri perk up as the town came into view and she looked up at Triss excitedly. As they reached the gates, Tissaia turned to Geralt, looking thoughtful.

“The path you’re taking us up,” she said carefully. “Is it wide enough for a donkey and cart?”

Geralt looked up at the Blue Mountains that Kaer Morhen was hidden within, eyes narrowed as he stared at it contemplatively. 

“The snow has not yet begun to fall,” Geralt said. “The path that will support a cart will be clear. Just make sure you get actual, useful supplies and not just clothes.”

Tissaia looked at him, displeased. “We’ll take care of _Fiona’s_ shopping. She’ll need a woman’s understanding, especially at her age.”

“Just make it functional!” Geralt called after him as Triss, Yennefer and Sabrina hurried off with an excitedly chattering Ciri. “She’ll be put through tough training!” 

Tissaia just waved a hand dismissively as she sauntered after the girls. 

Geralt sighed, looking to Jaskier once again. “Vesemir will have no patience for dainty dresses and grace…not when there’s training to be done.”

“Sounds fun,” Jaskier murmured. Geralt chuckled lowly. 

“I think you’ll be surprised,” Geralt told him as he led Roach into the town. “Sure, we have chores and training to do…but it’s different up there, with Eskel and Lambert and Vesemir.”

Jaskier gave a small smile when he heard the fondness in Geralt’s voice as he spoke of his brothers. 

“Geralt!” 

Geralt stopped Roach at the stall where the greeting had come from. Jaskier peered under the awning of the clothing stall, seeing an older woman standing there, smiling warmly at Geralt. 

It threw him for a second. He had never seen an everyday townsperson greet Geralt so warmly and by name before. 

“Celia,” Geralt greeted warmly. “How have you been?” 

“Oh, same old, can’t complain,” she laughed easily, weathered face crinkling up as she did so. “You’re earlier than usual. You usually come just as the snow begins to fall.” 

“Just managed to get here earlier, that’s all,” Geralt said simply as he looked over the clothes on the table. “However, I do need some supplies.”

“Of course, of course,” Celia said. “I have these ones and more in the store. I probably have your size in the store.” 

Geralt nodded, glancing back at Jaskier, who was still staring at him, surprised, as Roach nibbled on a patch of grass she had found growing between the stones of the road. 

“I need some warm winter clothing – pants, shirts, jackets, cloaks, sleepwear – in his size too,” Geralt said, indicating to Jaskier. Celia blinked, leaning forward under her awning so she could get a better look at Jaskier, who was still wrapped tightly in Geralt’s cloak. 

“Making friends now, Geralt?” Celia asked him, grinning. “It’s good to see!”

Geralt just gave a small grunt, but his eyes went soft as he looked back to Jaskier. 

“Jaskier is need of winter clothing,” Geralt restated. “Do you have anything in brighter colours?” 

Jaskier smiled slightly as he heard that, hiding his smile in Geralt's cloak, remembering what Geralt had said to him about Jaskier not looking right in dark, dull clothes.

Celia hummed for a moment, thoughtfully, as she rubbed her chin. “I might have a couple of things in some nice colours, not enough to cover a whole winter…however…” she trailed off, before disappearing into the store. 

“She seems nice,” Jaskier murmured from behind him. Geralt looked back to Jaskier, inclining his head. 

“She is a good person,” Geralt said, looking around the town with a fondness in his amber eyes. “This town…it’s filled with good people.”

Jaskier gave a small smile. It wasn’t often he heard Geralt speak like that and he looked around the town square, seeing the people talking and laughing as they went about their lives, selling and trading their goods.

Geralt was getting glances, but no disgusted looks or fearful glances. The townspeople seemed like seeing him was the norm, as though he was just a frequent visitor they all knew. 

It seemed calm. It seemed happy.

Jaskier looked back to the stall when he heard Celia return. She held a bundle of clothing and she was frowning at Jaskier thoughtfully. 

“I take it by the way he’s absolutely swamped by your cloak, that he’s a bit leaner than you are,” Celia said. Geralt nodded, reaching out for his cloak, which Jaskier handed over.

“Ah, perfect!” Celia beamed when she saw Jaskier’s build. “He’s the same build my Luka was before he got his apprenticeship with the blacksmith. Oh, you should see him now, Geralt, he’s grown up so much…built like you now too,” Celia chuckled. “So much different from the little weed of a boy you saved from that wraith.” 

“I’m glad to hear it,” Geralt said with a small smile.

“You should go see him afterwards, he’ll make sure your swords are well tended to,” Celia told him, before she offered Geralt the bundle of clothes, “but, anyway, these don’t fit Luka anymore but they should fit you, dear,” she said, looking to Jaskier. “They’ve got some wear to them, but they’ve still got many a season left in them, and they’ll keep you warm through winter.”

Celia pulled up the dark blue cloak from the top of the pile, giving it to Geralt so he could pass it to Jaskier. Jaskier quickly wrapped it around himself, pulling the soft, thick material around himself. 

Geralt took the bundle of clothing from Celia, setting it aside on the table for now, as he went through some of the other clothing as Celia pointed out what would fit both him and Jaskier. 

Soon, he had a pile of clothing for winter for both Jaskier and himself. Geralt reached for the leather pouch tied securely to his belt, frowning at the price Celia gave him, eyes darting over the clothes.

“You haven’t charged me for these,” Geralt said, indicating to the pre-loved clothes she had found for Jaskier.

“Oh, darling, I wouldn’t charge you for those!” Celia hushed him, taking the coins she was owed – though she had charged Geralt a discounted rate - and pushing the rest back. “After all, if it hadn’t been for you, my Luka would have never worn them…besides, they were just collecting dust. Now they can have a second life.”

“Thank you, Celia,” Geralt said gratefully as he took the bundle of clothes once Celia had wrapped them all up and tied them into a bundle. “I have some other…acquaintances walking around the town. Four women and a young girl. When they come to your stall, can you make sure they buy functional clothing for the girl?”

“Oh?” Celia questioned curiously.

“She’s…she’s my ward,” Geralt admitted to her. “She’ll be staying at Kaer Morhen for the winter as well.”

“Oh, of course, Geralt, of course,” Celia told him, reaching out touch his hand. “So good of you to take her in, sweet-heart.”

Geralt glanced back at Jaskier, seeing that he had been distracted by something occurring in the street, before he leaned closer to Celia. 

“Celia, if you hear anything about Nilfgaard, if anyone comes here searching for myself or…or for Jaskier, I need you to send me a message,” Geralt murmured to her. Celia’s eyes flashed to Jaskier, her sharp eyes taking in the faint bruising across Jaskier’s face, before she looked back to Geralt, a worried crease between her eyes.

“They’re looking for him?” she asked quietly.

“They’ve hurt him,” he corrected. “I managed to get him back.”

Celia nodded, determined. She had heard about Nilfgaard, heard about the death and destruction they had caused…and she and the others of this town would protect their Witchers.

“I’ll send my raven if I hear anything,” she promised. Geralt nodded thankfully and leaned back, looking to Jaskier who was frowning at him. Geralt just tilted his head, looking at him innocently, making Jaskier give a huff of laughter and shake his head fondly. 

“Any others been through?” Geralt asked as he tucked the bundle of clothes into one of the bags hanging from Roach’s side.

“Vesemir came down a couple of weeks ago to pick up the usual supplies,” Celia informed him. “Lambert came through last week.”

“Ah,” Geralt hummed.

“He’s still a cheeky bugger, that Lambert,” Celia told him, hands on hips. “You give him a good smack from me when you see him next.”

“It’s been decades, I doubt he’s growing out of it any time soon,” Geralt told her with a laugh, “but I will gladly give him your message.”

Celia laughed, loud and carefree, and nodded. 

“I’ll keep an eye out for Eskel then,” Celia told him with a smile. “He’s yet to pass through.”

“Thank you, Celia.”

“Take care, Geralt and Jaskier, and don’t forget to go see my Luka before you go!” Celia called to him as Geralt took Roach’s reins once more. “He’ll be so pleased to see you!” 

“I will, Celia,” Geralt called back as he led Roach away. He stopped at more stores and stalls as they walked, picking up the odd thing here and there. Some spices, some oils, some dried foods, some soft blankets, just odds and ends that would make the winter more comfortable. He even found some wool lined boots for Jaskier that would keep his feet warm and protected during the winter.

Jaskier had just sighed, looking like he wanted to protest when Geralt bought him yet more items, but Geralt had just given him a look, smiling slightly.

“You used to buy me new clothing when mine got damaged and my coin was sparse,” Geralt murmured to him as he tucked the boots away. “You used to pay for the rooms in the inns, the food, the baths…let me buy you these for a change, Jaskier.”

Jaskier gave a weak smile and a nod, giving in. Geralt gently touched Jaskier’s thigh before he turned back to the stalls. 

Ciri came running up after a while, face pink from the cold wind. Geralt could see Triss and Yennefer watching her closely, making sure she got to Geralt before they walked into the apothecary. Geralt glanced at the blacksmiths, frowning thoughtfully before he looked to Ciri and Jaskier. 

He beckoned Ciri closer, leaning down to murmur in her ear before handing her a few coins. Ciri looked to Jaskier with a grin before she darted off to a nearby store, with Geralt’s eyes fixed firmly upon her. Jaskier looked to Geralt suspiciously.

“What was that about?” he asked.

“What was what about?” Geralt asked innocently, causing Jaskier to growl and lean over to tug a lock of Geralt’s hair.

“That little whisper session with C… Fiona,” Jaskier said, quickly correcting himself. Geralt gave a small smile, glancing at Jaskier.

“You’ll see,” was all he said mysteriously, making Jaskier fold his arms across his chest and grumble. Geralt just smiled at the grumbling bard. 

Soon Ciri came running back, a small bag held tightly in her hands. When she got close enough, Geralt scooped her up, making her laugh in surprise, before placing her on Roach’s back in front of Jaskier. 

“Where did he send you to, little menace?” Jaskier asked her, wrapping his arms around her middle, making sure she wouldn’t slip. Ciri gave a secretive smile before she opened the brown bag she was holding, showing it was filled to the brim with different sweets.

“Told her you had a sweet tooth,” Geralt explained as he led Roach over to the blacksmiths, tying her reins to the wooden post in front of it. Jaskier just stared at him in shock. “Better enjoy them now. Vesemir hates sweets and doesn’t allow them in Kaer Morhen…though you’ll find Lambert usually has some hidden somewhere.”

Jaskier shook his head, but picked out a sweet. 

“You two look after each other, I just need to go in here for a little bit,” Geralt told them. “Yennefer is nearby as well.”

“We’ll be fine,” Jaskier told him, glancing about the town. “I feel safe here.” 

Geralt hid a smile at that, giving one more nod. “Just don’t scoff all of them down,” he warned them, nodding to the sweets. “We’re not stopping if you’re throwing up or have a stomach ache.”

“We won’t,” Ciri promised, though she clutched the bag of sweets tighter against her chest. 

“We’ll make them last, hmm?” Jaskier murmured in her ear. “Keep them safe so we can have a treat at Kaer Morhen.”

Ciri agreed, nodding and grinning widely. 

Geralt shook his head before he ducked into the blacksmiths, glancing around.

“Geralt, thought I heard the whispers that you were back.”

Geralt turned around, blinking when he saw the once boy, now young man, in front of him.

“Well, your mother was right,” Geralt said easily as he took the offered hand. “You’ve definitely grown up.”

Luka laughed at that, running his spare hand through his long black hair, pushing it back from his face. 

“Has to happen eventually,” Luka told him with an easy grin. “How can I help you?”

Geralt pulled out his steel sword, handing it over to him. Luka hummed thoughtfully as he looked at it. 

“It’s been weakened here and here,” Luka said, pointing out the spots. “But that’s an easy fix. Have a look around while I reinforce it.”

Geralt nodded as Luka headed towards the forge. He looked over the shelves filled with daggers and knives, seeing if there was anything useful there.

He found one for Vesemir, to be used for cooking and skinning the meat, and picked that up, placing it aside. He continued on before pausing, his amber eyes settling on a small dagger. 

It was a good sized dagger, easy to conceal yet the size of it made it easy to hold and do some damage with…but what really caught Geralt’s eye was the handle. It was inlaid with carvings of different flowers…one of them being buttercups. 

Geralt glanced back towards the door, looking out where he could just see Jaskier and Ciri sitting on Roach, chatting as they shared sweets. 

He knew that Jaskier carried a dagger on him, being a bard was a dangerous profession as Jaskier had constantly told him…but he couldn’t recall there being a dagger within Jaskier’s things when Geralt had gone through the bags, just to make sure everything was secure.

He picked up that dagger as well, holding it in his hand for a moment. 

Jaskier wasn’t ready for it now. It was far too soon for him to have a weapon…but when Jaskier was ready, when he felt confident enough to wield it, to fight back, then Geralt would have it for him. 

He took them back over to a counter, leaving both daggers upon it as he waited for Luka to finish his work.

It didn’t take as long as Geralt expected and Luka came back with his repaired sword, sweat dripping down his forehead from the heat of the forge and from the exertion of the physical work. 

Luka looked down at the two daggers as Geralt took his sword to inspect it, nodding with satisfaction at the work.

“Didn’t expect you were the ones for flowers, Geralt,” Luka said as he picked up the dagger. “Unless it’s a gift for Lambert, of course.”

Geralt gave a low chuckle at that and shook his head. “No, it’s for a friend,” he told him. “Just…for later.”

Luka blinked, but nodded, not pushing any further. Geralt frowned at the price that Luka gave him for the sword repair and the daggers.

“This one is on the house,” Luka told him, tapping the flower engraved dagger. “If you hadn’t saved me, Geralt, I wouldn’t be here…and, well, you don’t really talk about your friends much,” Luka added hesitantly when Geralt had opened his mouth to argue. “They must be special.”

Geralt faltered for a moment before giving a small nod. “They are.”

“Well, then I hope they like it…and pray they never have to use it,” Luka said, nodding. Geralt inclined his head in return as he slid the coins over. Luka handed him the wrapped package containing the two daggers and smiled.

“We’ll see you when you come down,” he told them. “Enjoy your winter.”

“Stay safe, Luka,” Geralt returned before he headed back to Jaskier and Ciri, finding they had been joined by Yennefer and the others, and also a donkey and a cart filled with supplies.

“Please tell me it isn’t all clothes,” Geralt said as he approached, eyeing off the different wrapped packages in the cart.

“Of course not,” Yennefer sighed at him. “There are herbs, vegetables, dried meats and pickled foods and some other items.”

“Right,” Geralt grunted, untying some of the packs from Roach to add to the cart. 

“What’s that?” Jaskier asked curiously, seeing the cloth bundle from the blacksmith.

“New knife for Vesemir,” Geralt told him, not exactly lying, as he tucked it away safely in one of the bags. Once he had taken most of the bags off of Roach, but left Jaskier’s lute secured to her side just so Jaskier knew it was close, he turned to mages.

“Shopping done?” he asked them.

“Yes, we have everything we need,” Tissaia answered, “and if we need more we can portal in and out.”

Geralt grunted at that, not sure what Vesemir would think, but he didn’t voice that. It would be more amusing to watch _that_ argument between Tissaia and Vesemir anyway. He looked to Jaskier and Ciri, both still on Roach, with Ciri held close to Jaskier’s chest, which made warmth stir up in his chest, seeing Jaskier so caring and sweet with Ciri, despite all he had just suffered and been hurt by others.

“We should go then,” Geralt told them. “There’s a cave we can spend the night and we’ll make it just before sunset if we leave now.”

There was a murmur of agreement and Geralt took Roach’s reins once more, clicking his tongue to get her to follow him. Triss led the grey and white spotted donkey and the cart behind him, letting Geralt lead the way. 

Geralt stared up at the mountains as they approached. Soon they would take the Witcher’s path to Kaer Morhen, the only way to get there now…and only able to be followed by a Witcher. The others would have to follow his lead carefully to make sure they all got there alive.

He knew Vesemir would look out on the path every day, waiting for them to come home, and he looked up at Jaskier at that, seeing he was stroking Ciri’s hair as Ciri leaned against him, murmuring softly to him.

Geralt never would have believed it before, but there was something deep inside him that was looking forward to showing them his home, to hopefully make it their home as well.  
Somewhere where they could all be safe, without a worry for soldiers or wars or back-stabbing, murderous humans, even for just a few months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had hoped to have them near Kaer Morhen by now...but Geralt likes to shop...and then there were feelings, so, just a bit longer haha


	19. To Kaer Morhen

They made their way up the mountain, with Geralt leading the way. Ciri got off of Roach’s back to walk beside Geralt after a while, not wanting exhaust Roach so early. Jaskier sighed as he was left alone on Roach’s back, feeling somewhat useless as the others walked up the path around him. Even the mages were walking alongside the cart that Triss was leading…but here he was, injured and useless and stuck on Roach’s back. 

He was used to being able to walk alongside Roach and Geralt, keeping pace and helping when he could. He wasn’t used to this, to not being able to do anything. 

He sighed again, fingers darting to Roach’s mane, braiding the long, sleek hair, just needing to focus on something so he didn’t focus on how useless he was. 

Jaskier focused on Roach’s mane, concentrating completely on braiding and twisting the hair into different parts, making sure it consumed his thoughts, hoping it would drown out the icy, prickly feeling twisting in his stomach and slowly creeping towards his chest, threatening to tighten and make him struggle to breathe. He was never good being idle. People always assumed that because of his fancy clothes that he was dainty…useless…and while it was true he couldn’t do somethings and he did prefer nice, simple nights in a warm inn, it did not mean that he shied away from doing physical work. He helped Geralt set up the campsite, to get the fire going, to help prepare the food, the meat of the animal that Geralt had hunted down. He helped to clean Geralt’s wounds, stitch them up if necessary.

It was making him uncomfortable, guilty, to be sitting on Roach while the others walked.

He could see Geralt glancing at him every now and again, but Jaskier didn’t meet his gaze or bring himself to try and smile at him to try and reassure him. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

So he focused on Roach’s mane, pushing down the icy guilt and the prickling anger that was trying to bubble up within him. 

The sun had just begun to set when Geralt stopped them all in front of a cave. 

“We’ll stay here overnight,” Geralt told them. “The path is too dangerous to travel during the night.” 

He watched as the mages headed inside, though Triss paused to secure the donkey and the cart right by the mouth of the cave, so it was still in sight. Geralt turned back to face Jaskier, before sighing and shaking his head when he noticed that Roach’s mane was all done up in elaborate braids.

“Now where did you learn to do that?” Geralt asked him, amused, as he stroked Roach’s neck. Roach seemed pretty pleased with everything, happily head butting Geralt’s chest. 

“Lettenhove,” Jaskier replied, voice oddly flat as he glanced around. “When I was younger…with my sisters.”

Geralt’s head snapped up at that and he stared at Jaskier in disbelief. Jaskier had never said anything about having sisters…or really anything about his family, other than them being noble and having disowned him when Jaskier decided to turn his future to being a bard. 

“Sisters?” Geralt questioned quietly as he stroked Roach’s neck. “You’ve never mentioned them.”

“They sided with my parents, they were the perfect daughters…while I was the black sheep, the one who didn’t act like a true Viscount,” Jaskier murmured. He closed his eyes, remembering seeing his sisters after being beaten for something or the other, and seeing them looking at him with such disapproval. “They were both older than me and taught me to braid when we were all younger…but we grew apart as we got older and as the expectations were laid upon us.”

“You haven’t seen them?”

“Not since I left home…and I don’t plan to see them,” Jaskier snapped suddenly, voice filled with bitterness. “I presume they’ve been married off by now.”

Geralt winced at that and looked towards the cave, seeing Ciri was peering out at them curiously. He looked back to Jaskier, seeing the troubled bard was looking over the clearing in front of the cave and to the trees that lined the side of the mountain they were slowly climbing. 

“Come on,” Geralt told him, looking up towards the darkening sky, a low rumble in the distance. “A storm is coming. It’s best we get in shelter.”

Jaskier let out a low, long exhale, before he nodded, allowing Geralt to help him off of Roach’s back. Geralt shifted once Jaskier’s feet were on the ground, going to scoop him up so he could carry him towards the cave.

He wasn’t expecting Jaskier to jerk back out of his hold, anger flashing across his face.

“I’m not useless, Geralt!” Jaskier snapped suddenly, startling Geralt. Geralt just stared at him for a moment. 

“I never said you were,” Geralt said, unsure of where this sudden burst of anger had come from. “You’re hurt, Jaskier.”

“I’m not a fucking invalid!” Jaskier snarled, blue eyes flashing. Geralt stared back, jaw clenching. He didn’t know why Jaskier had snapped so suddenly or why he was so angry. Geralt was just trying to help him, to stop his idiotic friend from getting hurt further.

“No, you’re not…but you are hurt, Jaskier!” Geralt snapped back, amber eyes narrowing as he looked at Jaskier. “I don’t want your wounds to reopen. I don’t want to you to be in so much fucking pain again…just let me help you!”

Geralt watched as the muscle in Jaskier’s jaw clenched and unclenched, Jaskier’s fists balling up, before Jaskier sighed, defeated, and the fight just drained from him, hands falling open limply by his sides. 

Jaskier looked up, looking completely exhausted and blue eyes broken.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice breaking, looking away. “I-I just…I’m sorry. I know you’re just trying to help, I just hate feeling so fucking useless.”

“You’re not useless, Jask,” Geralt reassured him, taking a careful step forward into Jaskier’s space, resting a gentle hand on Jaskier’s shoulders. “You were hurt, badly, and you’re healing…but the injuries _will_ heal…and then Vesemir will put you to work at Kaer Morhen,” he added, just to hear the small snort of laughter from Jaskier. “I promise, once you’re healed, you won’t feel useless. You’ll be up and finding something to do, some way to help, during the winter.”

Jaskier smiled weakly and nodded, shoulders slumping tiredly as he looked to Geralt. 

“Will you just let me help you for a bit longer?” Geralt questioned him quietly. “I just don’t want to see you in pain. I don’t want to smell your blood from wounds I know I could help prevent reopening.” 

Jaskier nodded again and Geralt stepped forward, wrapping one arm around Jaskier’s lean waist and lifting him up just so his feet didn’t touch the ground. Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt’s neck, resting his head against Geralt’s shoulder and sighing tiredly, exhausted from the rush of emotions that just surged out of him. 

Geralt took Roach’s reins with his free hand, leading Roach into the mouth of the cave, out of the incoming weather. 

“Storm’s coming,” Geralt warned the mages as he walked inside. He tied Roach’s reins to a root that had forced its way through the cave wall. “Better get the donkey and cart into the mouth of the cave.”

Triss quickly hurried away to do that, not wanting their supplies to get ruined or their donkey to get spooked and run away. Geralt patted Roach’s neck with one hand, reassuring her, before he carried Jaskier over to where Tissaia had conjured up a decent, smokeless fire. Ciri was staring at it in wonder, asking Tissaia a thousand and one questions about it. 

Yennefer was looking amused as she watched them as she and Sabrina set up bedrolls around the fire. Geralt spotted the one that he had bought for Jaskier, heading over to it before he bent down, depositing the bard on the soft bedding. Geralt knelt down on his own bedroll beside Jaskier’s. He watched Jaskier as Jaskier stared towards the flame, face looking pale and tired. 

He still wasn’t sure what had made Jaskier snap like that. He had never seen Jaskier snap like that before, at least not to him and not out of nowhere. Usually when Jaskier raged like that, it was when some mouthy or drunk fool trying to badmouth or insult Geralt. 

It usually simmered for a bit, with Jaskier trading barbs with the one trying to insult Geralt, trying to get the fools to shut up or take their words back…but it was only when they wouldn’t back down, when they wouldn’t shut up, when Jaskier would truly snap and try to lunge. 

He didn’t know why Jaskier had snapped just now, what had pushed him to. 

Jaskier gave a small, tired sigh, rubbing at his eyes and Geralt was snapped from his thoughts. 

“Let’s see your feet,” Geralt murmured as he shifted closer to Jaskier. Jaskier looked uncertain, glancing towards the mages gathered around the fire, all chatting easily as Sabrina prepared food for them all. 

“They’re not paying attention,” Geralt said, trying to soothe him. “I need to check your wounds, Jask.”

Jaskier sighed once again, but nodded, shifting his feet to rest on Geralt’s lap. Geralt carefully pulled off Jaskier’s boots, placing them aside, before unwrapping the bandages. 

“How’s it looking?” Jaskier asked hesitantly as he watched Geralt. Geralt had leaned closer, amber eyes narrowing as he examined the undersides of Jaskier’s feet by the dim light of the fire. Geralt just gave a small hum as he ran careful fingers over the healing wounds.

“It’s healing fine,” Geralt assured him, watching as Jaskier’s shoulders relaxed. “A couple more days and it’ll be healed up enough for you to walk on it again without needing to worry about the wounds opening up again. The bruising has almost gone.”

Jaskier nodded, looking relieved and Geralt gave a small smile at that as he rewrapped Jaskier’s feet, though left Jaskier’s boots aside for now. 

“Turn around for me,” Geralt said quietly. “I’ll check your back.”

Jaskier nodded once again, turning on the bedroll. Geralt watched as Jaskier’s shoulders shifted slightly as he undid the doublet buttons, before he moved forward, helping Jaskier shrug the purple and gold doublet off. He placed it aside before shifting Jaskier slightly so he was facing the mages, that way they couldn’t see Jaskier’s wounds.

Jaskier glanced over his shoulder at that, giving a weak smile. “Thank you.”

Geralt nodded, gently squeezing Jaskier’s shoulder before he lifted the back of Jaskier’s chemise up, getting Jaskier’s help to unwrap the bandage around his midsection.

“Hmm,” Geralt hummed thoughtfully as he looked over it.

“What is it?” Jaskier asked, trying to peer over his shoulder at his back. 

“It’s pretty much healed,” Geralt told him, placing the bandage aside. “It doesn’t need to be rewrapped. It doesn’t look like the wounds will reopen with any normal activity, only if you fall down a height or get thrown into a tree by a griffin, that sort of thing.”

“That only happened once,” Jaskier huffed as he fixed the white, soft material of his chemise. 

“What?” Geralt asked, amused as he shifted to sit by Jaskier’s side, with Jaskier immediately leaning against him. “Falling from a height or getting throw into a tree? I seem to recall that happening quite a few times.”

Jaskier tilted his head up so he could poke his tongue out at Geralt.

“Hey, I thought we weren’t allowed to do that,” Ciri said as she flopped down on the other side of Geralt. “You said if I did that to you again that you’d make me eat some gross tasting herb.”

“Hmm.”

“He told me that too,” Jaskier whispered conspiringly as he leaned around Geralt to wink at Ciri. Geralt just grunted again, wrapping his arm around Jaskier securely as Jaskier shifted to settle comfortably back against his side. 

“I will still do it,” Geralt threatened, though it had no real heat behind it. 

“Nah, ‘cause then you’d have to deal with me complaining about the taste,” Jaskier replied, making Geralt’s lips flicker up slightly at the corners, pleased to hear a tone of the old, cheeky Jaskier within him. 

“I’d find another way,” Geralt told him mysteriously, “but the herbs would work to curb Ciri’s mischief. Vesemir has no patience for mischief, believe me.”

Ciri grimaced at that but Jaskier just looked up at him curiously.

“You? Mischievous?” he questioned in disbelief. Geralt gave a low chuckle, staring at the flame.

“Before the Trials, yes,” Geralt answered quietly, with a reminiscent smile. “When we get to Kaer Morhen, and when Eskel is there, remind me to tell you about the incident with the bee and the jug.”

Jaskier just stared up at him, blinking before he grinned. “Oho, I will definitely find out _that_ story then.”

Geralt chuckled quietly, nodding with a silent promise. He kept his arm around Jaskier’s lean shoulders, happy for Jaskier to keep leaning against his side. He could hear the relaxed, steady beats of Jaskier’s heart – a fair change from earlier where it was beating rabbit fast in his rage – as Jaskier leaned against him, feeling safe and content. 

He felt Jaskier burrow himself a bit further into his side, staring up at the mages warily, when Triss came around to give them the dinner Sabrina had prepared. Triss just smiled gently at Jaskier.

“Here you go, sweetheart,” she said gently as she handed him the wooden bowl filled with a warm, creamy soup. “Sabrina’s speciality.”

“Thank you,” Jaskier murmured quietly as he took the bowl and wooden carved spoon. Triss smiled warmly at him before turning to Geralt.

“Geralt.”

“Thank you, Triss,” Geralt nodded to her. Triss gave a small nod back, brown eyes glancing sadly at Jaskier before she moved on to make sure Ciri got some dinner. Geralt reluctantly withdrew his arm from around Jaskier’s shoulders so he could eat, glancing towards the cave entrance as thunder rumbled. 

“Storm’s here,” Jaskier said quietly, wincing as lightning flashed outside and Roach whinnied in annoyance at the accompanying thunder, making Geralt shake his head fondly. 

“It will clear by morning,” he reassured Jaskier, placing his bowl aside once he had finished eating. Jaskier nodded as he also placed his bowl aside, looking pale once again. 

They sat in silence for a while, staring into the fire and watching as Ciri went to go sit with the mages, chatting with them and asking them a thousand questions, which the women took in their stride. 

Geralt turned to look at Jaskier, seeing that the bard’s eyes had tightened at the corners, his lips pressed into a firm line, looking as though he was lost in some terrible, heavy thoughts.

“Jask?” Geralt tried. Jaskier’s gaze flickered to him, coming out of whatever thoughts he had been stewing in.

“Mm?”

“Are you going to tell me what happened earlier?” he asked quietly, looking towards the mages to make sure they weren’t listening. They were focused on Ciri, which left his conversation with Jaskier private. “What made you react like that? What was troubling you so much, Jaskier?”

Jaskier sighed deeply before shaking his head. “I-I don’t know,” he muttered, thumb rubbing against the pads of his fingers anxiously, catching Geralt’s attention. “Everything just felt like it was too much...and I felt…I don’t know,” he trailed off, frustrated.

Geralt nodded, still not quite getting why Jaskier snapped the way he did…but perhaps Jaskier didn’t quite understand himself. He could understand emotions just bubbling up until it was too much. After all, that was what happened on the mountain. Everything had just bubbled up, all that anger and frustration, and he had just taken it out on Jaskier.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Jaskier muttered before turning his head and burying his face into Geralt’s side. “I don’t know.”

“All right, Jask, all right,” Geralt murmured reassuringly. He didn’t want to push Jaskier, not when the bard was still so fragile both physically and mentally from the torture and abuse he had suffered. 

Jaskier breathed out, sinking into Geralt’s side once again. Geralt let him rest there, listening as Jaskier’s heart beat eventually slowed, his breathing becoming heavy with sleep, before he carefully shifted him to lay on his bedroll, pulling the blanket up around him, making sure it was tucked snug around him, knowing Jaskier preferred it that way. 

He stayed kneeling beside Jaskier for a moment, making sure the bard didn’t wake up, amber eyes fixed to Jaskier’s face, which had gone lax and peaceful in sleep. 

Once he was sure Jaskier would remain asleep, he got to his feet and headed over to check on Roach. He glanced out into the pouring rain, watching as the lightning flashed, as he patted her neck. Roach just grumbled and butted her nose against his shoulder. 

“I know, I know,” Geralt murmured as he stroked her neck, smiling slightly as his fingers touched the elegant braids that Jaskier had twisted into her mane. “We’ll be back home tomorrow. You can torment Scorpion when Eskel gets there.”

Roach huffed and Geralt smiled. He wiped the smile off his face when he caught a faint whiff of mint, turning around to see Tissaia approaching. 

She stopped beside him, looking out into the rain, arms folded across her chest. 

“How long will it take to get to Kaer Morhen?” she asked him, not taking her eyes off of the rain and the lightning. 

“If we leave just after sunrise tomorrow, we should get there by sunset,” Geralt told her as he stroked Roach’s neck, glancing at the donkey, who was looking nonplussed as it stood there, trying to eat a root bursting out from the cave wall. 

Tissaia looked back towards the fire, seeing Triss was helping Ciri to settle down as Yennefer spoke softly to them both. Sabrina was sitting nearby on her bedroll, listening to the story Yennefer was telling. 

Tissaia’s gaze drifted to Jaskier, who had rolled onto his side. 

“Your bard,” she said, causing Geralt to tense. “How is he?” 

Geralt sighed as Tissaia’s gaze landed back on him. “Tired…scared…” Geralt admitted, looking to Jaskier. 

“I heard his outburst when we got here,” Tissaia said carefully. “He’s struggling.”

“I know,” Geralt growled lowly, eyes flashing, before he sighed, looking to Jaskier. “But it’s too early to push. He’s trying to come to terms with what happened to him…and I can’t push that process, not before he’s ready.”

“But you also can’t leave it too late,” Tissaia added. “If you wait too long, the pain he went through, the torture, it will fester within him…and it will be too late.”

“I know,” Geralt sighed, gaining a worried head butt from Roach. “When we’ve settled in Kaer Morhen, when he’s feeling safe and secure, then I will bring it up…but only when he feels safe. If I push too early when he still feels that he’s in danger, then it will make things worse.” 

Tissaia nodded in agreement, frowning slightly as she turned to full face Geralt. “I’ve taught and raised girls who have lived through hell, who were tortured for their abilities…if you need any help with the bard, for anything, just let me know.”

Geralt raised a questioning eyebrow and Tissaia returned it before sighing.

“He’s been badly hurt by two of my past students…and I believe he and Yennefer have had a rocky start from what I’ve heard,” Tissaia said, making Geralt snort. “If there’s any way I can help him, to try to apologize for their actions, to make him fear mages less…well, it’s the least I can do. He’s a brave boy. Despite everything, he refused to give you and Ciri up to Nilfgaard.”

“He’s always been brave,” Geralt told her. “Sometimes stupidly so.”

Tissaia gave a soft laugh at that. “Well, he is only human after all.”

Geralt stroked Roach’s nose once more before turning to Tissaia. “But thank you, for your offer.”

Tissaia inclined her head before she walked back to join the others. 

“Winter is going to be interesting,” Geralt muttered to Roach, who snorted in agreement. “Still have no idea how Vesemir is going to react.”

Roach nickered and Geralt patted her nose before heading back to Jaskier’s side. 

They set out early the next morning, shortly after the sun risen, much to Jaskier’s and Ciri’s grumbles. Geralt just rolled his eyes good naturedly as he boosted Jaskier onto Roach’s back. Jaskier settled down into Roach’s saddle, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

“We should be there by sunset,” Geralt informed them as Ciri leaned tiredly against his side, grumpily rubbing at her eyes. Geralt just chuckled before he dug through Roach’s saddlebags, pulling out a couple of apples. He pressed on into Ciri’s hands before giving one to Jaskier.

“Don’t give it to Roach,” Geralt told him, eyeing him meaningfully. Jaskier just pouted at him.

“Roach deserves all of the apples,” Jaskier informed him airily, leaning forward to stroke Roach’s neck. “Isn’t that right, beautiful?” 

Geralt sighed before holding up a third apple, watching as Jaskier grinned. Geralt grabbed his dagger, cutting a slice from it, before feeding it to Roach.

“That’s from Jaskier,” he told her as Roach greedily ate the apple piece from his hand. “Now be nice for him.”

“She’s a good horse,” Sabrina said, coming up to pat Roach. Roach quickly snapped at her fingers, making Sabrina jerk back her hand just in time to keep her fingers.

“She doesn’t like people,” Geralt explained as he took Roach’s reins before leading them up the path. “She only likes Jaskier.” 

“And that took _years_ ,” Jaskier said, twisting around slightly so he could face Sabrina, who made a face at that.

“Years?”

“Mmhmm,” Jaskier confirmed as he bit into his own apple. “Lots of apples and sugar cubes too.”

Geralt shook his head fondly at that but continued to lead them up the path. 

It was hours later, when they got to the rockiest part that Geralt stopped them, frowning at the path ahead. He looked up in the direction of Kaer Morhen, knowing that Vesemir would be able to see them approaching now…but it was the path that was worrying him now, namely Roach.

The path was hard enough for Roach to clamber over when she was without a rider, but it would be difficult with Jaskier’s extra weight on her back. One wrong foot on a wrong rock and she and Jaskier would go over the edge. It was even more dangerous thanks to the rain the previous night, the path all muddy and slick.

“The path is tricky up here,” he called back to the mages. “Watch your donkey and cart.”

“We’ll have no issues,” Yennefer said, cocking her eyebrow at him. Geralt didn’t doubt that for a moment, knowing Yennefer would use whatever magic she had to make sure she didn’t lose anything. She always did hate losing. 

“Jask, I’m going to need you to walk for a little bit,” Geralt said, turning to look up at Jaskier. “You could probably go in the cart with the supplies if need be.”

Jaskier shook his head at that. “I can walk,” he said determinedly. 

Geralt nodded and helped Jaskier off of Roach’s back. “Ciri, Jaskier, you both stay close to me,” he told them firmly. “Follow my footsteps.”

Jaskier nodded, smiling at Ciri as she slipped her small hand into his. They followed Geralt up the path as he carefully led Roach, stumbling and slipping over the muddy, rocky path. 

Jaskier hissed as he stumbled and Geralt stopped, looking at him in concern.

“I’m all right,” Jaskier reassured him, breathlessly. “Just stepped wrong…it’s fine.”

Geralt didn’t looked convinced but he continued on, knowing there was nothing he could do at the moment. Jaskier gave Ciri a shaky smile as she looked up at him worriedly and just squeezed her hand before continuing on.

Geralt looked back at Jaskier as they continued walking. Jaskier may have insisted he was all right, but Geralt could smell the faint copper scent of blood coming from Jaskier. This was what he didn’t want to happen…but by the very faint, weak smell of blood, it didn’t smell like Jaskier’s wounds had fully re-opened but he would need to check it as soon as they got the chance to stop. 

Finally they reached a flat resting area, the last flat area before Kaer Morhen and Geralt immediately stopped them, releasing Roach before he marched over to Jaskier, lifting the protesting bard off of his feet and carrying him over to a nearby rock. He sat Jaskier upon it and crouched down in front of him.

“Geralt, I’m fine!” Jaskier tried to protest but stopped when Geralt flashed him an unimpressed look, jaw clenched and amber eyes flashing darkly. 

“I can smell the blood, Jaskier,” Geralt growled at him. “Let me see how bad it is.”

Jaskier sighed before he gave a small nod, wincing as Geralt pulled his boots off. Geralt growled under his breath when he saw hints of blood leaking through the bandage, the red stark against the white linen. 

He unwrapped the bandages as the mages settled around them, taking the opportunity to grab a drink and something to snack on. 

“Some of the scabs had opened, but not the wounds itself,” Geralt reassured Jaskier, breathing out a sigh of relief himself. This wouldn’t put back Jaskier’s healing that far. “It will still heal soon, if we’re careful with it and you don’t overdo it.”

Jaskier nodded, leaning back as Geralt grabbed some water to clean off Jaskier’s feet, cleaning the blood away, before he reapplied the salve and rewrapped Jaskier’s feet in fresh bandages that Ciri had come running over with, having been handed them by Yennefer.

“Roach can carry you the rest of the way,” Geralt told him as he pulled Jaskier’s boots on carefully. “The path smooths out from here.” 

Jaskier nodded, still quiet, which made Geralt frown. He reached forward to squeeze Jaskier’s knee gently.

“You did a good job getting as far as you did on your feet,” Geralt murmured, catching Jaskier’s gaze. “Many lesser men would have refused to even walk, not to mention continuing on once the wounds had split.”

“Didn’t want to be a burden,” Jaskier muttered, turning his head away. Geralt stood up and ran his hand through Jaskier’s hair, gently tilting Jaskier’s head up to meet Geralt’s gaze.

“You are **never** a burden, Jaskier,” Geralt told him firmly. “Never.” 

Jaskier met his gaze, his blue eyes shining with an emotion that Geralt couldn’t quite identify, before he gave Geralt a toothy smile. Geralt smiled back, tousling Jaskier’s hair just to hear him grumble playfully. 

“Come on, we need to go if we want to get there before nightfall,” Geralt told him quietly. “If we get there early enough, I’ll show you the hot springs.”

Jaskier perked up at that, eyes widening. “Hot springs?” he breathed excitedly. “You’ve never mentioned hot springs before!”

“Best ones you’ve ever seen,” Geralt promised as he bent down to scoop Jaskier up into his arms. “And once your feet have healed enough to endure it, you can spend all of winter there.”

Jaskier beamed at that, making Geralt smile, pleased to see the true, happy cheerful Jaskier shining through. Geralt boosted Jaskier back onto Roach’s back, before inhaling the warm, flowery scent that Jaskier was emitting.

He was happy…and it was a scent that Geralt missed.

Geralt looked to Ciri, seeing the princess swaying on her feet, before he shifted over to her, scooping her up and passing her to Jaskier. Ciri yawned as she leaned against Jaskier’s chest, safe in Jaskier’s hold. 

Jaskier gave Geralt a soft smile as he cuddled the exhausted princess close to his chest. Geralt returned it as he picked up Roach’s reins, clicking his tongue to get her to follow before they continued up the path.

They made it Kaer Morhen just as the sun was beginning to set, the sky just turning into the deep purple-pink, that cast the fortress of the Witchers in shadows. 

Geralt looked up towards the gate, seeing a familiar figure standing there, arms folded across his thick chest. 

As they got closer, Geralt could see the disapproving look on his face.

“Vesemir,” Geralt greeted respectfully, inclining his head, as he stopped Roach in front of the older Witcher. 

“Geralt,” Vesemir said shortly, golden eyes darting from Geralt to Jaskier and Ciri on Roach to finally resting on the mages. “You’ve got some explaining to do, boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken a little bit, but I've been sick as a dog...
> 
> You've all gone quiet on me the last couple of chapters, I know it's been a bit slow, but are you still liking where this is going?


	20. Vesemir

Geralt stared at Vesemir, who stared back firmly, making Geralt resist the urge to shuffle slightly under his mentor’s unerring stare. 

“It’s…complicated,” Geralt finally managed to get out. 

“Mm,” Vesemir hummed, unimpressed. “So I can see. Still doesn’t get you out of the explaining, Geralt.”

Geralt glanced up at Jaskier as Jaskier shifted on Roach’s back, arms tightening around Ciri’s waist. Vesemir frowned slightly when he saw Geralt looked to the young man and girl on the back of the horse. 

Vesemir could pick up the faintest scent of blood in the air and his eyes narrowed as he focused on the young man, dressed in purple, on Roach’s back. 

Clearly the fancily dressed young man and the young girl meant something to Geralt. There was no way he’d bring them to Kaer Morhen, or let them ride Roach, otherwise. 

“Perhaps we can discuss this inside?” Geralt tried as he looked back to Vesemir. Vesemir dragged his eyes away from the pale and bruised man on Roach’s back to look at Geralt, unimpressed. 

“I am not allowing mages within Kaer Morhen without knowing why you brought them,” Vesemir told him sternly. The unknown man and girl he would have allowed in – they wouldn’t have been a threat, but not mages. 

Geralt sighed and Vesemir fixed him with a stern look, which had him recoiling slightly. 

“It’s Nilfgaard, Vesemir,” Geralt started to explain. 

Vesemir sighed, shaking his head. “I told you not to get involved in the wars of men, boy, it’s just not worth it.”

“I didn’t get involved,” Geralt grunted, glancing back up at the man on the horse, who had paled further. “They came hunting for me…because of Ciri.”

“Your Child Surprise,” Vesemir said, surprised, as he looked back to study the girl once again. So this was Geralt’s child surprise, the one he had tried so desperately to run away from. He remembered when Geralt had come back to Kaer Morhen just months after the betrothal. He had sat there, listening as Geralt finally admitted what had happened – several glasses of alcohol later. Vesemir knew that Geralt didn’t want to claim the child, not wanting to be responsible, to tear the child away from the life it had…the loving family it had…and Vesemir understood.

Most of the Witchers had been Child Surprises, including Geralt himself. It was the cause of bitterness amongst some of kids, knowing their families had given them up because of a promise, to give them up into a life of pain and loneliness…if they even survived the trials that was. 

“They took Jaskier in order to get to _me_ , Vesemir,” Geralt continued, breaking Vesemir from his morose thoughts. “They knew about the Law of Surprise, that Ciri was my child of surprise. They took Jaskier because of it and hurt him to get to me, so I could give them Ciri.”

Vesemir looked once again to the young man, sharp eyes detecting the fading bruises marring the pale flesh. He frowned as he looked back to Geralt.

“The girl, why do Nilfgaard want her?”

“She inherited her mother’s power,” Geralt explained, looking to Ciri, who was still cuddled close against Jaskier’s chest as she peered out nervously at Vesemir. “That’s why the mages are here.”

“Oh?”

“Yennefer came to me when she heard about Jaskier,” Geralt continued, though shortening the story greatly. There was no time to go into all of the details. “She called Tissaia, Sabrina and Triss to protect Ciri while we went to rescue Jaskier. They, uh, want to make sure Ciri’s powers are guided properly.”

“And if they aren’t?” Vesemir questioned, looking to the mages.

“It becomes deadly,” Tissaia answered simply, face even and firm. “She has already had instances where she’s blacked out…and when she’s come to, she has been surrounded by bodies.”

“Mm,” Vesemir hummed thoughtfully, looking to Ciri, who had buried her face back into Jaskier’s chest, ashamed. Jaskier held her tighter to his chest, throwing a glare to Tissaia as Ciri trembled in his arms. 

Vesemir looked over the mages, from the one with violet eyes – which he knew was Yennefer from Geralt’s many, many stories – to the blonde, unimpressed looking one, to the one with curly brown hair and kind eyes to the older, sterner looking one.

“All of you?” Vesemir asked, incredulous. 

“We came to see what kind of place this was, to make sure Ciri would be safe,” Tissaia told him shortly. “Once she’s settled in, our plan was to swap out who would teach her. We can’t all be here with her, it would bring far too much suspicion…but if we figure out a rotation, Ciri can be taught by all of us, who all have our own talents…only if it is okay with you, of course, Vesemir,” Tissaia added. “Geralt did inform us that the decision in the end is yours.”

Vesemir hummed, looking at Tissaia. 

“I am not one of the Lords or Kings that you can twist and position with your words, Lady Mage,” Vesemir replied, watching as Tissaia blinked in surprise. “But…if young Ciri’s powers are as you say, then she must have guidance. I will allow your presence…for now.”

“Thank you,” Tissaia said, inclining her head. “We understand the importance of the safety and secrecy of your home.”

“Hmm,” Vesemir just grunted as he turned. “This isn’t going to be an easy stay. You’ll be pulling your weight around here.”

“Of course,” Tissaia agreed as she indicated for the others to follow her in. 

Geralt just stared dumbfounded after Vesemir. He knew Vesemir would still be suspicious, still be watching every move the mages made…but he hadn’t expected him to allow them in that easily. He had honestly expected the argument to continue on for another few hours at least as Vesemir poked holes in every argument. 

Geralt looked up at Jaskier, raising his eyebrows. Jaskier smiled weakly at him, shaking his head, before Geralt led Roach into the yard, quickly catching up to Vesemir as the mages led the cart inside. 

Vesemir glanced at Geralt as Geralt came to walk beside him.

“Do you trust them?” Vesemir asked him quietly. 

“I wouldn’t have led them here if I didn’t,” Geralt replied. 

Vesemir nodded at that, glancing back to the mages before smirking. “Lambert, you can come out now. They are not a threat.”

Jaskier looked up at that, watching as a man slinked out of the shadows, sword held tightly in hand. The man was tall and broad with black hair and scruffy jaw. Two long scars ran down the right side of his face, one running from temple to jaw, down over his eye. 

“It’s always you, isn’t it, Geralt?” the man said as he sheathed the sword and walked over to Geralt’s side. Jaskier watched, amazed, as Geralt was pulled into a tight hug by this new man. 

“What?” Geralt questioned with a grin as he let the man go. “Can’t let you be the one to get into trouble all of the time, Lambert.”

Lambert rolled his eyes, punching Geralt in the shoulder. Lambert looked up, smirking as he saw Jaskier and Ciri on the horse.

“At least you brought snacks,” Lambert teased, only to yelp and stumble away when Vesemir smacked him across the back of the head. 

“Play nicely, Lambert,” growled Vesemir as he glanced back to Jaskier and Ciri, dark golden eyes concerned. “These are our guests. Do not act like a feral pup, I taught you better.”

“Yes, Vesemir,” Lambert muttered as Geralt smirked, giving a snort of laughter. Geralt stopped Roach as they reached the main entrance of the keep, looking up at Jaskier. 

“Stable Roach and get everything unpacked,” Vesemir ordered Geralt, who nodded. 

“I will,” he said. “I just need to get Jaskier inside.”

Vesemir turned to Jaskier, eyebrows raised as he looked the bard up and down, even as Ciri clambered off of Roach’s back with the bard’s assistance. 

“His legs look intact,” Vesemir grunted. Geralt gave a stiff nod, but still reached up to help Jaskier down.

“Bones are intact, but the bottoms of his feet were badly injured,” Geralt said shortly. “It’s only just starting to heal.”

“How do you injure the bottom of your feet?” Lambert asked as leaned languidly over a nearby rail, eyeing off Jaskier as Geralt carefully helped him down from Roach’s back, making sure Jaskier’s feet stayed off the ground.

Jaskier shot Lambert a look, even as Geralt lifted him up and held him close to his chest. He heard that disparaging tone in Lambert’s voice. It made him bristle, knowing that Lambert saw him as weak.

“Nilfgaard whipped my feet,” Jaskier snapped, unable to hold back that rage simmering inside his chest. “I tried to run, so they whipped the bottom of my feet and shredded the skin.”

Lambert straightened up at that, frowning as he stared at Jaskier. 

Vesemir was also staring at Jaskier, surprised and disturbed that a mere bard was targeted…all because of his relationship with Geralt. 

“Come then,” Vesemir said, looking around as the mages finally pulled their cart up and stopped it. “Bring your supplies inside. Lambert, help them unload the supplies.”

Lambert scowled at that but gave a jerky nod. 

“Bring him inside then, Geralt,” Vesemir called over his shoulder as he headed up the steps into the keep. 

Jaskier looked up at the large stone fortress which stuck out of the side of the large, imposing mountain and swallowed deeply. He looked up at Geralt, who just smiled reassuringly at him before he properly scooped Jaskier up into his arms.

“I won’t take long,” Geralt murmured to him as he carried Jaskier up the stairs and into the keep. “I’ll have everything unpacked quickly.”

Jaskier nodded, eyes darting about, taking in everything he could. There were a surprising amount of tapestries on the stone walls, though some were looking a little old and worn. 

Geralt turned into a room with a large wooden table down the middle of it. 

The room was warm, with a fire blazing in the large fireplace inset in one of the walls, a large bear skin rug placed in front of the warm fire. There were armchairs placed in front of the fire, but Geralt moved towards the table, gently setting Jaskier down on the long wooden bench that ran down one side of the table. 

Vesemir was already seated on the bench on the opposite side of the table, watching Geralt curiously. 

“Feet up,” Geralt told Jaskier once Jaskier was settled down on the bench. Jaskier’s lips twisted in annoyance, which only made Geralt smile. “Come on, Lark.”

Jaskier sighed and shifted his legs so they were up and stretched out on the bench. 

“I won’t be long,” Geralt told him once again before looking to Vesemir. “I’ll make sure Lambert doesn’t get himself into trouble…though I think he’d suit being turned into a toad.”

“Hurry along then,” Vesemir said gruffly. Geralt nodded at him once more, hand softly brushing against Jaskier’s shoulder before he turned and headed out to make sure Lambert and Ciri were behaving themselves. 

Vesemir stared at the bard as the young man looked around and frowned. He hadn't been expecting Geralt to turn up with so many guests and he had truly been surprised to see them all making their way up the mountain when he had looked down upon the paths that morning. It was unusual for Geralt to bring anyone. Usually Lambert would invite Witchers from the other schools, but that was about it, never anyone like this. Vesemir had seen the shocked look flash across Geralt's face one he had allowed the mages, the girl and the bard in, knowing that Geralt had expected him to fight or argue against it more...but Vesemir _knew_ Geralt. He knew that Geralt wouldn't bring all of them up to Kaer Morhen, the one place of safety for the Witchers, unless it was truly important, bordering on life or death. 

He trusted Geralt's judgement, his instincts, so he would allow the mages presences for now, though he would watch them carefully, to ensure his boys' safety and the safety of Kaer Morhen. 

Jaskier looked around the small hall, well aware that Vesemir’s gaze was upon him. He looked around the hall. Even though it was stone, the fire blazing filled it with warmth, and the shadows cast across the walls gave it a cozy feel. The rug and the armchairs even gave it a homey feel, more so than he was expecting, if was to be truly honest. He had known Geralt for years, knew that he didn’t expect comforts or warmth, so part of him had expected the Witcher keep to be stark and cold in order for the Witchers to learn not to enjoy comfort of any sort. 

But this…this place was warm and comfortable. It felt like a home.

Jaskier sighed, knowing he couldn’t keep avoiding Vesemir forever. He turned to look at the older Witcher, seeing he was staring at him, a deep frown on his wrinkled face. 

Jaskier took the opportunity to stare back, to study the elder Witcher. While Geralt’s hair was white from the mutations, Vesemir’s hair had greyed with age, and he had wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, lips pursed in a frown. His dark golden eyes were fixed firmly on Jaskier’s face, taking in every detail he possibly could about the bard. 

“So,” Jaskier said awkwardly, just needing to break the heavy silence. “You trained Geralt?” 

Vesemir hummed and inclined his head. “That I did,” he said, voice low like thunder. “You’re the bard who has followed him around for decades then?”

“That’s me,” Jaskier said with a weak smile. 

“You don’t look to be that old,” Vesemir said thoughtfully, leaning forward as he took in Jaskier's youthful face.

“Witch’s curse,” Jaskier explained shortly, thumb rubbing against fingertips. Vesemir hummed again, his golden eyes regarding Jaskier. His gaze dipped down to Jaskier’s neck, sharp eyes detecting the fading bruise in shape of a handprint around the bard’s pale neck. 

Jaskier looked nervously to Vesemir again. He honestly didn’t know what to say to the elder Witcher. He usually wasn’t so shy with words, but this was Vesemir, the man who trained and partially raised Geralt. 

“So, you, uh, you’ve heard of me then?” Jaskier asked uncertainly, remembering that Vesemir had known that he had followed Geralt around for decades.

Vesemir chuckled lowly, leaning back as he regarded Jaskier. “Oh, yes,” he said with a small smile. “When the boys have finished their chores and their training, they usually sit around, drink, eat and trade stories. You featured in quite a number of Geralt’s stories…got into trouble in quite a few of them too.”

“Yeah, well,” Jaskier said sheepishly with a small shrug. “Have to get the stories somehow.”

“Mmm,” Vesemir hummed in agreement, though his dark golden eyes remained on Jaskier’s face, seemingly searching for something in the bard’s youthful face and blue eyes.  
He did have to admit, after years and years of hearing stories about this unassuming bard…something about him made Vesemir curious. Witchers were meant to be solitary as it was the way to travel the Path.

Yet, Geralt comes back one year and grumbles about this bard that followed him unceasingly and got into an endless amount of trouble.

And then he comes back the next year and the next…and the bard features in more and more stories, but Geralt’s tone becomes more fond with every story told. 

Many lesser men had thrown up, wet themselves or fainted witnessing what a Witcher does, witnessing a Witcher after battle with their eyes pitch black from potion, yet this young bard had stayed by Geralt’s side and even had written that damn catchy tune to help turn public opinion on Witchers. 

Vesemir did have to admit that he had always wanted to meet this young man, to truly see who he was and perhaps discover why he followed Geralt for all of these years.

And now it seems he had all winter to discover what made this bard, this Jaskier, follow their White Wolf. 

Geralt led Roach into the stables, taking off her bridle and patted her neck. Roach gave a low huff before she busied herself eating the oats that Lambert had just brought in. He glanced out of the stables at the sound of laughter, seeing Ciri was helping the mages unpack the cart. 

“You had to bring mages,” Lambert said, shaking his head with disgust. “Sure, I get the girl and even the young guy – he’s kinda cute – but the mages, really?”

“Stay away from Jaskier, Lambert,” Geralt said simply as he turned back to Roach. “He doesn’t need your assholery at the moment.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Lambert grumbled, leaning against the rails in the stable, staring at Geralt. Lambert was silent for a moment, watching as Geralt brushed Roach’s neck down. “Jaskier was hurt badly, wasn’t he?”

Geralt looked up at Lambert at that, seeing Lambert was frowning, staring intently at him. 

“You always spoke of him being bubbly and loud and never able to shut up…but he’s so quiet and looks defeated,” Lambert explained. “I know he said that Nilfgaard hurt him…but it’s worse than it looks, isn’t it?” 

Geralt inclined his head. “Nilfgaard got a hold of him to get to me,” he explained quietly as he continued to brush Roach down, unable to look at Lambert when he told this. “They beat him pretty badly, left him scarred. There’s more to it, but he hasn’t told me everything yet. I think he’s struggling to come to terms with it.”

Lambert made a thoughtful noise before sighing and looking back to the mages. “Guess I better help them before Vesemir comes lookin’ for me,” Lambert said with a sigh, making Geralt chuckle lowly. “I’ll play nicely with your bard.”

“Thank you, Lambert…I’d hate to have to throw you off the tower roof,” Geralt said, glancing over his shoulder. Lambert snorted, shaking his head as he left the stable. 

Geralt went back to brushing down Roach’s coat. He got to her flank and froze suddenly, seeing Jaskier’s lute was still strapped securely to Roach. 

Jaskier would have never let the lute out of his sight before all of this. Geralt had seen Jaskier sleep curled around his lute case – but the now, and even the night previous now Geralt came to think of it, Jaskier had left his beloved lute, never allowed it to be out of his sight. 

Geralt carefully unstrapped the lute case, holding the well-loved case in his hands. 

“Damn it, Jaskier,” he muttered under his breath. “I didn’t realise it was this bad already.” 

If Jaskier was leaving behind his beloved lute, then he was struggling more than Geralt had feared he was. 

With another sigh and a pat to Roach’s flanks, Geralt left the stables, with Jaskier’s lute case secured over his shoulder. 

Once everything had been unpacked from the cart – and Geralt had carefully hidden away the dagger he got for Jaskier – they all headed into the small hall. 

“Jask, you left this on Roach,” Geralt said lightly as he rested the lute case against the bench, right beside Jaskier. Jaskier blinked, staring at the lute case.

“Oh, so I did,” Jaskier murmured, fingers drifting against the leather case before he turned back to face Vesemir. Geralt frowned again, catching Vesemir’s concerned gaze. Geralt just shook his head and settled down to sit beside Jaskier, drawing the shivering bard into his side. 

Lambert waggled his eyebrows from where he was sitting next to Vesemir and Geralt scowled at him. Ciri came to sit on Geralt’s other side, curling into his side.

“Some food then,” Vesemir spoke up suddenly, getting to his feet as the mages sat down around the table, “and then you can tell me _everything_.”

“Everything?” Geralt questioned, unsure. Vesemir fixed him with a piercing look.

“Everything,” he repeated. “If Ciri is going to be trained, if everyone is going to stay here this winter, I need to know why Nilfgaard took young Jaskier, what young Ciri’s powers truly are and what you mages all plan to teach her. I need to know _everything_.”

“Yes, Vesemir,” Geralt murmured, inclining his head. The elder Witcher nodded.

“Lambert, come assist me,” he ordered, making Lambert grumble but get up to follow Vesemir anyway. 

Geralt looked around the table, meeting Yennefer’s gaze. She was frowning at Jaskier, who was leaning against Geralt’s side, blue eyes blank. Yennefer’s purple gaze shifted up to meet Geralt’s and she glanced to Jaskier again meaningfully, worriedly. Geralt gave a small sigh and nodded in understanding, looking towards the quiet bard tucked under his arm.

Even Lambert could tell something wasn’t right with Jaskier, and all he knew of Jaskier was the stories that Geralt had told him. 

He’d let Jaskier rest for now, make sure he felt secure in Kaer Morhen, that he felt safe, before he pushed for answers. If he pushed too early, trying to get Jaskier to open up, he knew it would just make things worse. It would make Jaskier close up and shut down if he pushed too early…and he couldn’t lose Jaskier, not after getting him back. 

Vesemir came back shortly with Lambert, carrying bowls of stew and freshly baked bread. 

Once they were all settled down, Geralt explained the story to Vesemir, about how Nilfgaard had targeted Ciri in Cintra’s attack and when she had escaped and found her way to Geralt, how Nilfgaard had targeted Jaskier to get to Geralt. 

Jaskier remained quiet throughout the story, though Vesemir’s gaze flickered to him, especially when it came to the failed rescue with Yennefer and how Jaskier had thrown himself at the commander to give Yennefer time to escape, so she could make sure Geralt was safe. 

Vesemir’s frown deepened and Lambert actually stopped eating when Geralt spoke about Jaskier’s rescue and the wounds they found on him. Jaskier just shuddered, huddling closer to Geralt’s side.

Finally, Vesemir nodded and turned his attention to the mages. “The girl…what do you plan to teach her?” 

“How to control her powers for one,” Tissaia spoke up, “but also some other magicks. Healing, useful spells. How to not misuse her powers and the cost of using some magic.”

Vesemir hummed thoughtfully at that, nodding. He leaned back once he had finished eating, golden eyes straying to Ciri, who was falling asleep against Geralt’s side. 

“I was not expecting so many to stay at Kaer Morhen this year,” Vesemir spoke up. “With Eskel still to arrive within the next couple of days, and Coen as well, there are only three more rooms that are in useable condition, though they are a little dusty.”

Geralt lifted his head, looking at Vesemir in surprise. “Coen is coming this year?”

“Yes, I received a message from him asking if he could stay,” Vesemir confirmed. Geralt smiled at that, giving a nod.

“It will be good to see him,” he murmured. 

“We can easily clean up those rooms,” Tissaia added in when there was an opening. 

“Triss and I can share one,” Sabrina spoke up.

“I can stay with Ciri,” Yennefer added in, looking fondly to the dozing princess. Vesemir’s gaze shifted to Jaskier.

“Jaskier will stay with me,” Geralt told them quickly and firmly, amber eyes hardening as he looked around the table, daring any of them to say anything - especially Lambert. Lambert wisely kept silent. Jaskier looked up at him, giving him a weak smile. 

“Then I believe the last room is yours, Lady Tissaia,” Vesemir said, inclining his head. Tissaia smiled back, inclining her head in return. “I do have a few rules in Kaer Morhen,” Vesemir added on. “No unnecessary magic, no entering my laboratory, and to pull your weight around Kaer Morhen, whether it be helping to clean, cook or repairing.”

“Of course,” Tissaia agreed, even as Sabrina sighed. “Perhaps an early night is best,” Tissaia continued, watching as Ciri struggled to keep her eyes open as she leaned against Geralt’s side, even Sabrina and Triss were looking tired. 

“A good idea,” Vesemir said. Geralt arched an eyebrow at Lambert as Lambert looked in between Vesemir and Tissaia curiously. Everyone slowly got to their feet, quickly taking their empty bowls back into the kitchen.

“Leave them in the sink for Lambert,” Vesemir said, hiding a smirk at Lambert’s outraged look. “He rested today, he can clean up.”

“Geez, thanks, Vesemir,” Lambert muttered, shaking his head, but smiling anyway. 

“Come on, Jask,” Geralt murmured as he came back into the small hall, shouldering Jaskier’s lute before he leaned down to scoop the sleepy bard into his arms. He followed the mages from the hall as Vesemir showed them to their rooms. 

“Goodnight, Ciri,” he told the small, tired princess quietly as they reached the turn in the hallway. “Sleep well.”

Ciri smiled sleepily at Geralt from where she was leaning against Yennefer’s side. 

“She’ll be fine, Geralt, don’t fuss,” Yennefer told him. 

Geralt scowled. “I’m not fussing.”

Jaskier laughed quietly in his arms and Geralt shook his head, turning right when the others turned left, and continuing on. He walked up another flight of stairs, making sure not to bang Jaskier’s lute against anything. Carefully he pushed open the door to his room open with his foot, exhaling and relaxing at the familiar, comforting sight of his bedroom, a place of safety and comfort. 

Jaskier looked around the room curiously, taking in the bookshelves filled with books and random items that Geralt had picked up over the year. Geralt carefully placed Jaskier on the bed before he turned to the fireplace, lighting it with the wood that Vesemir must have stocked earlier. 

Once the fire was burning, Geralt turned to look at Jaskier, who was sitting on the bed, looking a little lost. Geralt winced as a sudden thought came to mind.

“I’m sorry if I was too forward in saying we would share a room,” Geralt said, watching as Jaskier looked up, startled. “I just thought it’d be easier.”

“No, no, this is fine, Geralt,” Jaskier quickly reassured him, looking a little panicked. “Please, I don’t want to be alone.”

Geralt quickly crossed the room, placing Jaskier’s lute aside carefully, before he sat on the edge of the bed beside Jaskier. 

“I won’t leave you alone, Jaskier,” he promised. “I’ll let you know if I need to go train or anything, but you can stay with me in my room, just like old times, huh?”

Jaskier gave a weak smile and nodded, looking a bit more relaxed.

“I’m just going to get our bags but I’ll be right back,” Geralt reassured him. Jaskier nodded and Geralt got to his feet, quickly getting to his feet and leaving the room. He retrieved the bags he had left in the main hall, slinging them over his shoulders before he hurried back up to his room, passing a smirking Lambert as he did so. 

Jaskier was still sitting up in the large bed when he entered the room, staring at the warm fire blazing in the fireplace deep in thought. Jaskier looked up when he entered and smiled tiredly at him. Geralt smiled back as he placed the bags down and went digging through them, pulling out the warm nightclothes for Jaskier. 

They both undressed and redressed quickly, climbing into the warm bed and huddling under the thick furs to ward off the chill night air. 

Geralt turned on his side so he could face Jaskier, seeing Jaskier had done the same thing. 

“I usually have one day of rest before I have to start on the chores and yearly repairs,” Geralt told him quietly, reaching out to stroke his thumb across the smooth skin across the back of Jaskier's hand, bumping over the sharp knuckles, “but, depending on how you feel, you can stay in bed and sleep and I can come wake you in time for breakfast.”

Jaskier just nodded tiredly, shuffling closer to Geralt’s warm bulk. Geralt’s amber eyes searched Jaskier’s tired face.

“Jask,” Geralt said hesitantly. “You do know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

“Mmhmm,” Jaskier hummed tiredly, eyes drifting shut. 

“Just wanted you to know,” Geralt sighed, shaking his fondly as Jaskier drifted off to sleep. He stayed awake for a while longer, just watching Jaskier sleep peacefully. He carefully reached out to brush the wispy hair of Jaskier’s fringe off of his face. 

Geralt finally allowed his own eyes to drift shut.

He was home, he was in one of the safest places for Witchers on the Continent. Ciri would be trained and taught how to protect herself and Jaskier would have the time to recover without any worries in a place of safety. 

Nilfgaard was naught but a distant nightmare here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken a bit longer than usual, but the cold I had suddenly got a whole lot worse and I ended up in hospital...and found out it wasn't a cold, but meningitis, so I'm still recovering from that...and I might be a little bit slower updating if the recovery time is as long as it's predicted, since this fatigue and exhaustion is just nuts...
> 
> But thank you all for the wonderful comments!! I read them all when I was in hospital and it made me smile so much!
> 
> With my portrayal of Vesemir...I see him as a stern trainer, a fierce Witcher but a protective father-figure.
> 
> Let me know if you liked it! :D


	21. First Morning in Kaer Morhen

Geralt slowly blinked awake, feeling warm and more at ease than he had in almost a year. He blinked slowly, feeling a pleasant warmth tucked against his side, soft breaths puffing against his shoulder. He turned his head and a small, fond smile pulled at the corner of his lips when he saw Jaskier had shifted during the night to tuck himself against Geralt’s side, arms sprawled over Geralt’s chest and leg tucked in against Geralt’s. 

Geralt regarded the sleeping Jaskier’s peaceful face. Despite all of their ups and downs and arguments, it just went to show that Geralt did trust Jaskier. There was no way that Jaskier would have been able to get close if Geralt didn’t trust him, even when in a deep sleep. He was conditioned to wake up to danger…and clearly his body and senses knew that Jaskier was _safe_ , allowing Jaskier to curl up to him during the night without Geralt being woken by it. 

The relaxed Witcher just settled down further into the soft bedding, not in a rush to get out of bed. He closed his eyes, listening to Jaskier’s slow, steady heartbeat and feeling Jaskier’s soft, warm breath rushing against the skin of his shoulder. 

He didn’t want to move yet, to wake Jaskier. The beaten bard was finally sleeping peacefully and Geralt didn’t want to disturb that.

Geralt must have dozed off, comfortable and warm with Jaskier safely curled against his side, because he woke up when the sun poured through the window and across his face. Jaskier gave a moan beside him, burying his face into Geralt’s shoulder. Geralt chuckled, shifting slightly so he could see Jaskier. Jaskier had lifted his head, hair all messy and sleep mussed, and was squinting at Geralt sleepily. 

“What time is it?” Jaskier yawned as he tiredly scrubbed at his eyes. 

Geralt sat up, stretching out his muscles as he glanced out the window, where the sun was peeking through the grey, dreary clouds. 

“Mid-morning,” Geralt answered as he cracked the joints in his neck, watching as Jaskier gave a shudder and threw him a dirty look, which made Geralt smirk. Jaskier had always hated when Geralt cracked his joints. Geralt slipped out of the bed, stretching out further as Jaskier sat and watched tiredly. 

Once Geralt felt he had stretched out enough, limbs feeling loose and limber, he turned to change on his clothes.

“How’d you sleep?” Geralt asked as he went searching through his clothes, finding a comfortable, loose black shirt to wear. 

“Fine,” Jaskier answered with another jaw cracking yawn, long arms stretching overhead. 

“Back and feet all right?” Geralt questioned as he pulled on a clean pair of pants. “Didn’t keep you up?”

“No, it’s fine,” Jaskier insisted. “Back feels a little stiff, but other than that…I feel fine.”

Geralt turned to Jaskier once he had finished dressing, moving to sit on the bed beside Jaskier. 

“Let’s see your feet,” Geralt said, patting his thighs. Jaskier shifted his feet to rest on Geralt’s muscled thighs without an argument, knowing it was easier to just let Geralt look over the wounds. Geralt carefully unwrapped the bandages, frowning thoughtfully as he looked over the wounds, running a careful fingertip over the healing wounds. 

“How does it look?” Jaskier asked, voice quiet and unsure. Geralt looked up with a reassuring smile.

“Healing,” he reassured him. “No sign of infection, the bruising has almost gone and the scabbing is almost completely healed. A couple of more days to be safe, but it’s almost there.”

“That healed really quickly,” Jaskier said, amazed and relieved.

“Yennefer’s healing salve and Swallow,” Geralt explained with a small shrug of his shoulder. “Swallow helps speed up regeneration, meaning the time it takes to heal,” Geralt explained at Jaskier’s frown. “It makes your skin and muscles heal a lot faster, wounds close a lot quicker because Swallow speeds up the natural healing process.”

“Ah,” Jaskier murmured before a curious look entered his sky blue eyes. “Wait, isn’t Swallow a Witcher potion? How could I have taken it? I mean...aren't they deadly to humans?”

Geralt hummed as he re-wrapped Jaskier’s feet. “I studied how to make it safe for human consumption once you made it clear to me that you weren’t leaving my side any time soon,” Geralt answered with a flicker of a smile. “I wanted to make sure I could make any of the potions I had, the ones that could save your life, safe for you to use.”

Jaskier blinked, amazed, unsure of what to say to that. What could he say to that?

Geralt seemed to understand because he just gave a small smile once again. 

There was a loud banging on the door which had Jaskier jumping in surprise, a shocked yelp escaping his lips. 

“Oi, Geralt!” Lambert’s voice called to them. “Time to get your ass up! Vesemir said you better hurry or you and your lover boy are gonna miss breakfast!”

“Lambert!” Geralt snarled at the door as a deep flush stained Jaskier’s cheeks, creeping down into his neck. Lambert’s loud cackle slowly faded away as he left. Geralt looked back to Jaskier, seeing the bard was staring at him with wide blue eyes, cheeks flushed pink. 

“Yeah, Lambert’s an asshole,” Geralt explained, getting a weak burst of laughter from Jaskier, watching as Jaskier relaxed, the pink flush slowly disappearing. “But we should get going before he eats all of the food or Vesemir sends him back.”

Jaskier nodded in agreement, shifting to the end of the bed as Geralt shifted to pick up the bag filled with Jaskier’s clothes, placing it on the bed. 

“It’s not too cold yet, so you don’t need to wear the full winter wear,” Geralt told him. Jaskier nodded as he dug through the bag, picking out clothes to wear. 

“Is Lambert always like that?” Jaskier asked lightly as he finally pulled out his thick dark blue set, one he didn’t usually wear.

"Unfortunately, yes," Geralt chuckled lowly, yet fondly as he looked back to Jaskier. Geralt frowned as he stared at the clothes that Jaskier had pulled out of the bag, tilting his head.

“Isn’t that the set you were wearing when I met you in Posada?” Geralt asked in surprise. Jaskier lifted his head, staring back at Geralt just as surprised. He was shocked that Geralt remembered what he was wearing in Posada that day they first met. He would have thought that detail wasn’t important. Geralt had never seemed to focus on or ever care about his outfits before.

“Y-Yeah, it is,” Jaskier answered quietly, touching the gold and red detailing within the dark blue material. 

“Surprised you still have it,” Geralt said gruffly. “It’s been decades.”

“I like the memories it brings…and it’s still fashionable,” Jaskier answered. Geralt chuckled at the answer as he helped Jaskier dress, seeing as Jaskier’s back was still stiff and sore.

“You don’t wear it that much,” Geralt continued as he sat beside Jaskier once he was almost fully dressed, watching as Jaskier buttoned up the doublet over the dark grey undershirt. 

“I didn’t want to wear it out,” Jaskier explained as his nimble fingers buttoned the small buttons on the doublet, pushing them through the small loops. “I didn’t want to have to get it replaced or ruin it, so it’s just sort of stayed buried in my bag under all of my other stuff.”

“Do you still have the one you wore at Pavetta’s betrothal?” Geralt asked curiously as he helped Jaskier to carefully pull on his boots. 

“No, that one I traded in for a new outfit,” Jaskier said with a shake of his head. Geralt hummed under his breath, gaining an odd look from Jaskier, though the young bard said nothing, instead brushing down the material of his doublet, picking off invisible pieces of lint. Geralt examined the outfit Jaskier was wearing fondly, remembering how the fearless bard had approached him in that inn, bread stuffed in his pants, and the events that quickly unfolded that after that with the elves and how Geralt found himself saddled with a travel companion that just never left.

The outfit had truly lasted the test of time – though Geralt knew that Jaskier was fastidious when it came to taking care of his belongings. But Jaskier’s build had definitely changed in that time. The pants for one were slightly tighter around Jaskier’s thighs, with the years of walking giving the once thin bard some lean muscles. 

“Come on,” Geralt said finally with a sigh as he stood up. “We should get downstairs to breakfast before Lambert eats everything.”

Jaskier gave a small laugh, the sound of which made Geralt’s shoulders drop slightly in relief, a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips at the familiar bubbly sound. Geralt bent down to scoop Jaskier into his arms, the bard immediately wrapping his long arms around Geralt’s neck, biceps flexing as he adjusted his grip on Geralt. 

Geralt carried Jaskier downstairs, heading into the small hall. All of the mages were already sitting there, eating their breakfast and talking easily. 

Ciri was sitting next to Vesemir, which surprised Geralt, especially when he saw the fond amusement in Vesemir’s dark gold eyes as he answered all of Ciri’s questions. 

Lambert was staring at Ciri in disbelief, as though unable to believe that this child – though swiftly approaching her teenage years – had fearlessly gone to the old, cranky Witcher and had just sat down right beside him and started talking to the surprised Witcher, not having any fear of him.

Geralt set Jaskier down on the bench before settling down in between him and Ciri. Vesemir pulled his focus away from his conversation with Ciri as they sat down, looking at Geralt with amusement.

“You slept in late this morning,” he said dryly, yet with a hint of amusement.

“Good to be home,” Geralt grunted as he reached forward to grab the bread, breaking part of the loaf off to hand to Jaskier, who quickly took it with a murmured, “Thanks.”

Vesemir’s gaze darted to Jaskier, who was pulling some of the plates towards him, with Geralt absently reaching out to pull the plates out of Jaskier’s reach closer so Jaskier didn’t have to lean too far to get them. 

Vesemir tilted his head slightly as he watched how Geralt shifted and move to help Jaskier without a second thought, like it was second nature for Geralt. He hummed low in his throat at that before looking back to Ciri, who was practically inhaling the food on her plate. He chuckled at that.

If he hadn’t know that Ciri had been a princess, he wouldn’t have guessed at the way she inhaled the food. Sure, there were times when Vesemir glanced at her that he could see the once-princess with the regal posturing…but mostly, he saw a lost, young girl, who needed some decent meals in her. 

“Well, you have your rest day today, Geralt,” Vesemir told him as he continued to eat his own breakfast, “but tomorrow I need you and Lambert starting repairs on the east wall near the training yard. The summer storms battered it.”

“Of course,” Geralt agreed, inclining his head. Vesemir nodded, looking back to Ciri thoughtfully. He had been deep in thought during the night about everything he had been told about young Cirilla and the teaching plans for her, to help her control her powers and to protect her from Nilfgaard who had focused on her for some odd reason.

“Alongside your usual chores and training this year,” Vesemir began, gaining Geralt’s and Lambert’s attention. “You will be assisting me in training young Ciri.”

Ciri straightened up at that, the mages all turning to look at Vesemir as that statement caught their attention. 

“You’re going to make her into a Witcher,” Tissaia stated coolly, blue eyes fixed on Vesemir’s face as Yennefer straightened up beside her, purple eyes narrowing.

Vesemir considered her statement for a moment before answering, “Yes…and no.”

“What do you mean?” Yennefer asked testily, hands flexing against the wooden table top. Geralt glanced between Vesemir and Yennefer, feeling on edge. He knew what Yennefer was like when she got defensive…and he knew that Yennefer was already wrapped around Ciri’s little finger, so protective of the young, orphan princess. He also knew that when Yennefer was feeling defensive that people got hurt. 

“I mean that Ciri will undergo training as a Witcher,” Vesemir said, voice steady in the wake of the mage’s protective anger. “She will learn to fight, to use a sword. She will learn how to use the Signs and will learn how to identify and defeat each monster that is out there…but she will not undergo the Trials to become a full Witcher like us here. She will not take any mutagens.”

“Because they’ve been lost,” Lambert muttered under his breath.

“Mm,” Vesemir agreed, though his eyes strayed back to Ciri, who was staring at him wide-eyed with surprise. “I also don’t believe the mutagens would have mixed well with her powers. She will be a Witcher in all but appearance.”

“I’m getting her armour,” Geralt spoke up, hearing Jaskier murmur in agreement from beside him. “Once she’s ready of course.”

“She will be okay though, right?” Jaskier spoke up from beside Geralt, voice filled with worry and uncertainty. “I mean…she won’t be hurt or anything?”

“Bumps and bruises,” Geralt rumbled reassuringly as he turned to face the worried Jaskier. “She’ll be run ragged with training, but injuries shouldn’t be more than bumps and bruises and the occasional bruised pride.”

Jaskier looked up, searching Geralt’s face with wide blue eyes. He seemed to find what he was searching for and nodded, relaxing once again as he turned back to his breakfast.  
He knew that Geralt wouldn’t let Ciri get hurt, not intentionally anyway. 

“I-I’m going to learn how to be a Witcher?” Ciri breathed, still staring wide-eyed at Vesemir.

“Yes,” Vesemir answered simply, clasping his scarred hands together and leaning over the table to meet Ciri’s gaze evenly. “It’s going to a long, hard road filled with long hours of training in all types of weather. Do you think you are up to it?”

Ciri nodded with determination, back straightening. “Yes.”

“Are you sure, cub?” Geralt asked her quietly, amber eyes fixed on her. “It is not an easy life.”

“This training will help me defend myself,” Ciri stated, voice filled with determination and eyes steeled. “I won’t let the man in the winged helmet get me. I’ll fight him!” 

Geralt stiffened, catching a whiff of fear and unease. He looked to Lambert and Vesemir, seeing their nostrils flaring as they also caught the scent. Geralt turned to Jaskier, seeing he had paled, his usually steady musician hands trembling against the table top. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt rumbled in concern, turning to the trembling bard. He carefully reached out, cupping Jaskier’s face in his larger hands, turning Jaskier’s head so he could meet his gaze. “Jaskier, what is it?”

Jaskier’s breath came in stuttered gasps and Geralt shifted forward to press his forehead against Jaskier’s. He could hear Jaskier’s heart beat racing fast, sounding like the fluttering of bird wings.

“Jask, you need to breathe,” Geralt reminded him quietly, amber eyes fixed on Jaskier’s panicked blues. “Breathe, Jaskier. Follow my breaths.”

Jaskier shook his head as much as he was able to within Geralt’s caring grasp.

“Man in the winged helmet,” he gasped brokenly. “It’s Cahir.”

Geralt stiffened at that and he pulled back slightly so he could meet Jaskier’s gaze more evenly. His thumbs carefully stroked Jaskier’s cheek, trying to calm the panicking bard. 

“What do you mean?”

“The man in the winged helmet, the one after Ciri, that’s Cahir,” Jaskier stammered, trembling hands reaching up to grasp at Geralt’s wrists, trying to ground himself. He could feel Geralt’s slow, slow heartbeat pulsing under his fingers that were pressed tightly to the underside of Geralt’s wrists. 

“Who’s Cahir?” Lambert asked, frowning deeply. 

“He’s the commander of the Nilfgaard army,” Yennefer spoke up, worried eyes on Jaskier and Ciri. “He’s the one who ordered Jaskier’s capture.”

“Y-You woulda been proud of me,” Jaskier laughed shakily. “I wanted to tell him how ridiculous that helmet was…but I kept my mouth shut. He woulda hurt me more.”

Geralt growled under his breath, shifting forward once again to press his forehead firmly against Jaskier’s. 

“H-He was the one who took you?” Ciri’s quiet, weak voice spoke up. “H-He was there when Cintra fell. He killed Lazlo when we were trying to escape.”

Jaskier pulled away from Geralt so he could look to Ciri, opening his arms. Ciri leapt off the bench she was sitting on, rounding Geralt so she could throw herself into Jaskier’s arms. Jaskier held her close, nuzzling into her hair as he comfortingly stroked her back.

“I know, my little cub,” Jaskier whispered, voice breaking. “He’s killed so many.”

“Who else has he killed?” Lambert asked, golden eyes staring at Jaskier curiously. “How do you know?”

“Because they spoke about it,” Jaskier muttered bitterly, giving a shudder. Geralt reached out to place a comforting hand on Ciri’s shoulder and another one Jaskier’s leg. “He was the one who…who killed Eist on the battlefield,” he admitted, clutching Ciri tighter as she gave a broken sob. He hated to be the one to tell her, but Eist deserved to have it known, so his memory wouldn’t be forgotten and he could be avenged. 

“H-He’s the one who ordered Mousesack to be killed too, wasn’t he?” Ciri asked mumbled against Jaskier’s chest. Jaskier gave a small nod and Ciri sobbed, burying her face deeper into the dark blue material of Jaskier’s doublet. 

Geralt watched as Jaskier and Ciri held each other tightly, remaining silent as he let them mourn their friends and loved ones lost to Cahir, and taking strength in each other knowing they were both his victims. Geralt looked to the others, seeing the mages were murmuring quietly to each other, while Lambert and Vesemir watched Ciri and Jaskier, frowning deeply. 

Geralt looked back to Jaskier and Ciri, remaining silent, but keeping a comforting hand on each of them, just letting them know he was there if they needed him, a silent protector.  
Inwardly, he vowed to never let Cahir get anywhere near Ciri and Jaskier again. He would kill that cowardly, bloodthirsty fucker the next time he saw him.

Cahir had followed the wrong orders and had made the worst enemies possibly. The Witchers of the Wolf School protected their own…and Ciri and Jaskier were definitely part of the Wolf School now.

Jon frowned as he stared out over the camp, watching as the soldiers milled about, trying to repair the tents damaged by the mage Yennefer. Most of them had been destroyed by the fire that she had controlled, but some items within them had been salvageable at least. 

“Jon.”

Jon looked up at the calling of his name, seeing Cahir walking towards him, back rigid and jaw tense. 

“Commander,” he greeted, inclining his head and causing his wayward red curls to fall over his face. He straightened up, blowing the curls out of his face. “What can I do for you?”

Cahir regarded him for a moment with cool blue eyes before he frowned. “Walk with me, Jon.”

“Of course.”

Jon followed Cahir through the camp, ignoring the looks directed at him, especially Fringilla's cold, disgusted look. He knew Fringilla was still pissed about Yennefer getting hold of Jaskier’s things so Fringilla couldn’t cast a tracking spell, and she had been very vocal about it…and vocal about who she blamed. 

Despite Cahir’s snapped orders for the men to stop doubting Jon, that Jon’s loyalty wasn’t to be doubted, it didn’t stop the suspicious looks he received as he walked through the camp. 

Jon glanced at Cahir’s back, brow furrowing, as they walked into the woods surrounding the camp. His frown deepened as they got further and further away from the camp. 

Cahir paused once they got to a clearing, finding a fallen log to sit down upon and sighing. Jon looked around the clearing, which was a fair distance away from the camp, before his gaze landed back on Cahir, who was watching him. 

Jon sighed and folded his arms across his chest, green eyes calm and steady as he regarded Cahir. “So, was I brought out here for you to kill me?”

Cahir startled at that question, blinking in surprise. “No…no, Jon, of course not,” he said quickly, shocked, before he regained his composure. “I just didn’t want any of the others to overhear this.”

“Ah,” Jon murmured as he walked over to sit on the log beside Cahir. “Let me guess…this is about the night the Witcher and the Sorceress came for Jaskier.” 

Cahir nodded, sighing heavily as he rubbed his face tiredly, able to break from being the steadfast commander he was expected to be amongst the men. He didn’t have to pretend with Jon. 

“I know you let the mage get Jaskier’s things without a fight,” Cahir muttered, looking to Jon, who remained calm. “I know you could have called for help, could have subdued her with something in your collection of potions and concoctions…but you didn’t.”

Jon gave a slow nod. 

Yes, he did have something in his collection that would have subdued Yennefer for a short time, for him to get back up at least…but he hadn’t wanted to use it.

“You know Jaskier would have broken if he was sent to Nilfgaard,” Jon told him quietly. “He was breaking here, just knowing that his freedom was threatened. Jaskier is not meant to be caged.”

“I know,” Cahir sighed, running a hand through his hair, “but you _know_ orders are orders, Jon. We follow our Emperor. He hasn’t led us wrong.”

“Yet,” Jon murmured. Cahir swung around to stare at Jon in disbelief at that.

“Jon!”

“I know, I know,” Jon muttered before he hesitated, looking to Cahir. “I-I had a dream the night before the Witcher and the mage came.”

Cahir frowned, leaning on his knees as he regarded Jon.

“A dream?”

Jon sighed, running a hand through his red curls, not sure how to word it. “It wasn’t like a normal dream, Cahir. This was something different,” he said quietly, uncertain. “Nilfgaard was burning. Our people were lying dead in the streets or were dying.” Jon’s eyes flickered up to meet Cahir’s gaze.

“ _You_ were lying dead…j-just sprawled on the ground, covered in blood,” Jon said weakly. “I-I just had to watch it all as everything _burned_ as our people screamed in pain and fear, as they died.”

“Jon…”

Jon shook his head, swallowing deeply. “I couldn’t stop it. I just had to watch…but then a woman appeared. She had dark red hair and piercing eyes…and I could just tell that she was filled with magic, that she was powerful. She stopped in front of me and told that this would be Nilfgaard’s fate if Jaskier was brought to Nilfgaard. She told me to let Geralt take his bard when he came…and our people would be spared.”

Cahir’s frown deepened as he considered Jon’s words. 

“A Sorceress perhaps?” he murmured, tilting his head. “She may have given you this warning. One who knew the Witcher if she called him by his name.”

“She might have known the lengths he’d go to in order to rescue Jaskier,” Jon countered, “or Jaskier being sent to Nilfgaard could have the catalyst to Nilfgaard’s fall.”

“So you let Yennefer take the bard’s things so Fringilla couldn’t find Jaskier to take him to Nilfgaard either,” Cahir mused. “Jaskier gets away and Nilfgaard remains safe.”

Jon nodded, looking at his entwined hands. 

“Well, for our people’s sake, it was probably a good thing then,” Cahir sighed, sounding exhausted. “Though our Emperor is most displeased, especially with Fringilla’s report.”

Jon snorted, rolling his eyes. “Sometimes she’s more trouble than she’s worth. Something about her…just makes me so uneasy.”

Cahir nodded absently before getting to his feet. Jon looked up at him, tilting his head curiously. 

“We have new orders from our Emperor then?” Jon asked curiously, and a little bit apprehensive. 

“We have more soldiers coming to assist,” Cahir muttered as he paced back and forth. “Our orders are to take Sodden so we can more easily search for Princess Cirilla…and to make our way towards Temeria. Our Emperor has plans that are being set into motion…and we must be ready.”

“More battles then,” Jon sighed, getting to his feet. “I need to restock my healing supplies.”

Cahir gave a small, half smile and nodded. “Come. We should get back. We have much to organise.”

Jon nodded and fell into step beside Cahir, walking back through the woods in silent contemplation. 

“You know,” Cahir said, breaking the silence. “If the war continues the way it does, if we continue to conquer and spread out over the North, we will probably cross paths with Jaskier once again…especially if he is with Princess Cirilla.”

“Perhaps,” Jon murmured, knowing that it truly was possible. “Though I believe we will see what Destiny has planned and if our paths will cross again.”

Cahir gave a low chuckle, looking to Jon. “You and Destiny.”

Jon looked back to him, quirking an eyebrow. “You know better than I that you do not mess with Destiny.”

“We’ll see,” Cahir hummed thoughtfully. “We’ll see what Destiny has planned for us all soon enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I missed Jon, so I had to add in another bit...I might another small appearance for him later on.
> 
> Anyone figure out who the mystery Sorceress is who appeared in Jon's dream?
> 
> Thanks to all your lovely comments! Thankfully most of my meningitis symptoms have gone away, but the fatigue and light sensitivity have decided to stay a bit longer, which made writing a bit harder, so I hope this chapter was all right!


	22. Eskel and Coen

Jaskier sat upon cobblestones steps, the ones still in one piece, as he watched Lambert and Geralt spar with one another in the training grounds. Vesemir was circling them, barking out instructions as he eyed off their stances. Ciri was sitting nearby with Tissaia and Triss, frowning as she listened to Tissaia talk. Yennefer and Sabrina were sitting near them, seeming to be conversing and debating about different herbs that they had laid out in front of them.

Jaskier pulled his cloak tighter around himself as a chilled breeze blew through the open training yard. They’d be in Kaer Morhen for three days now and Jaskier was slowly getting used to the routine.

Geralt usually crept out of bed before the sun rose so he could get his chores done before Jaskier woke, but at the times he didn’t finish in time, Jaskier just lay in bed, tucked under the warm, heavy blankets, staring out the window at the lightening sky. 

Geralt would always come back before breakfast though, a soft smile pulling at his lips when he saw that Jaskier was already awake, looking relaxed and sleepy. 

Jaskier winced as Geralt went stumbling back as Lambert threw the Aard sign at him. Geralt quickly recovered though, throwing the sign back with enough force that Lambert flew back into a stone wall, dust raining down around him. 

Lambert grinned as he straightened up, rolling his shoulders. 

“Oh, it’s on now, pretty boy.”

Geralt rolled his eyes at Lambert, giving a sharp grin as he slipped into a defensive stance. “Bring it on, little Lamb.”

Lambert scowled before he lunged for Geralt, swords meeting with a loud clang that had Jaskier flinching back.

“Don’t worry,” Vesemir reassured him as the elder Witcher settled down to sit beside him. “They know not to hurt each other. There may be a few bruises and some scrapes, but they’ll be fine.”

Jaskier nodded, drawing his cloak tighter around himself, blue eyes fixed on Geralt. 

“They’re just very…violent,” Jaskier said uncertainly. Vesemir chuckled deeply. 

“They are, it’s just how they were trained,” Vesemir told him, “but they’re also brothers. They won’t hurt each other in a way they can’t heal from.” 

Jaskier looked to Ciri, frowning. “How will you teach Ciri?”

“Training dummies,” Vesemir answered simply as he leaned forward to look at the young Princess. “But that’s only once she learns the correct way to hold a sword and the proper stances. She will not touch a real sword until we are certain she won’t hurt herself.”

Jaskier nodded, breathing out a soft sigh of relief at that, glancing at the elder Witcher, who stared back, golden eyes thoughtful. 

“When will you begin teaching her?”

Vesemir gave a small snort. “When the mages give us some time,” he said, shaking his head. 

“They’re concerned about her.”

“Oh, I know,” Vesemir agreed with a low sigh. “But within the week we’ll begin to train her. Eskel will be best to teach her about the Signs. He has a talent with them.”

Jaskier gave a small smile at the fondness in Vesemir’s voice. Despite all of the rumours that Witchers didn’t feel – which Jaskier knew was a load of shit anyway – it was nice to see that the man who helped to train Geralt, Lambert and Eskel cared for them. 

Vesemir and Jaskier looked around at the sound of a horse nickering. Geralt and Lambert paused in their sparring match, turning around to face the new comers. Two horses were approaching the training yard – which the stables were just off to the side of. 

Jaskier yelped when he was suddenly taken down by a white, fluffy blur, falling onto his back with a heavy weight settling on his chest.

“You still have that fucking goat, Eskel?” Lambert’s voice asked with disgust. 

“Leave Lil Bleater out of this,” came the indignant reply. 

The weight was suddenly lifted off of Jaskier’s chest and he sat up, wiping the spit from his face with disgust. He looked up to see that Geralt had a squirming goat tucked firmly under his arm. 

“Your goat is a fucking menace, Eskel,” Lambert was still arguing, getting Jaskier’s attention. He looked towards the two new comers, seeing Lambert was standing beside a new Witcher, who was dressed in red and black. The new Witcher, which must have been Eskel, shifted his long, dark brown hair out of his face as he turned to look around the training grounds, a confused look on his face as he stared at the mages and at Jaskier and Ciri, who had come to stand beside Geralt to look at the goat tucked under his arm. 

It was then Jaskier saw the extensive scarring marring the side of Eskel’s face, going from the right side of his temple down his face and across his lips, with a small section of his top lip marred, looking like he was scowling. 

“Kaer Morhen seems busy this year,” Eskel was saying. Lambert looked back to Jaskier and Geralt, giving a grin. 

“Oh, you have no idea,” Lambert snorted, indicating that he followed. Eskel did so, grinning as he saw Geralt. Geralt pushed the goat into Eskel’s arms as soon as he was close enough.

“I see Lil Bleater still does as she wishes,” Geralt said as Eskel grinned at the goat, patting her head before placing her on the ground so she could go cause more mischief.  
“Of course,” Eskel said simply before he grinned at Geralt once again before pulling him into a bone crushing hug. Geralt clapped Eskel on the back as the Witcher let him go, glancing down at Jaskier, who was staring at them both shocked.

“Eskel, this is Jaskier,” he introduced. “Jaskier, this is Eskel.”

Eskel looked down at the bard in surprise. “Wait, as in Jaskier the Bard?” he asked. “The one who’s followed you for years and wrote that coin song?”

“That’s me,” Jaskier said with a weak smile. Geralt sighed as Jaskier pushed himself to his feet, shooting Jaskier a warning look. 

“I’m not gonna walk,” Jaskier muttered forlornly, knowing Geralt would get grumpy and overprotective if he tried it. His feet were so close to being healed, so Geralt was being extra protective, making sure Jaskier didn’t agitate his injuries. 

Eskel frowned as he looked over the others. “I think I need to catch up on what’s going on here. I never thought I’d see mages in Kaer Morhen.”

He looked around as he heard a giggle, seeing an ashen haired girl playing with Lil Bleater, who was trying hard to eat her clothes. 

“Or a child again,” Eskel finished up, brow furrowed as he stared at Ciri, so confused as to what was happening in Kaer Morhen. 

Lambert snorted, arms folded across his chest as he shook his head. “Oh, Eskel, you have _no_ idea.”

“This is Ciri,” Geralt informed Eskel quietly. 

“Princess of Cintra, Geralt’s Child Surprise and our newest recruit,” Lambert added on, looking at Geralt with a cocked eyebrow, smirking. Geralt scowled at him as Eskel just blinked at them, dumbfounded.

“Apparently I decided to come visit during a very interesting year,” came another amused voice. “You told me it was just going to be chores, training, eating and drinking, Eskel.”

“Not this year,” Vesemir chuckled, shaking his head with amusement. Jaskier peered around Eskel’s bulk to see Vesemir and the other Witcher approaching. The new Witcher was tall with black hair neatly brushed back and a neatly trimmed beard. His armour was a lot neater than Jaskier was used to seeing on Witchers. The design of the clean, shiny armour was different to what Jaskier was used to seeing, compared to Geralt’s. It reminded Jaskier of something a knight would wear…just not as heavy, restricting or flashy. 

The eyes were what set him apart.

Instead of the usual gold or amber that the others had, this new Witcher had yellow-green eyes, which stood out against the blood shot whites of his eyes. 

Jaskier’s gaze darted down to the Witcher’s chest, blinking in surprise at the pendant he saw hanging there. He was expecting a wolf, like Geralt’s medallion…like Vesemir’s and Lambert’s and Eskel’s…but this Witcher was wearing a griffin medallion.

“Geralt, it’s good to see you,” this new Witcher greeted, breaking the silence. Geralt smiled and offered his hand, the other Witcher grasping his forearm tightly. 

“Coen,” Geralt greeted in return. “Glad you’re here.”

Coen smiled, yellow-green eyes sweeping across the yard, pausing on the mages, who had all turned to look at them, though made no move to intersect themselves in the conversation just yet. Coen looked to Ciri, who was still playing with Lil Bleater, before his gaze landed on Jaskier. 

“Mages and humans…definitely much more interesting than winters at Kaer Seren used to be,” Coen joked, tilting his head slightly as he regarded Jaskier, his nostrils flaring slightly as he scented the air. He could detect the faintest hint of a healing salve coming from Jaskier, meaning the human had been harmed…probably why he was in Kaer Morhen.

“Kaer Seren?” Jaskier asked curiously, looking to Geralt. He had never heard of that place before. “Is that another Witcher school? Are there more Witcher schools?” 

“There were a few more, but most were destroyed, with only a few survivors, just like us,” Vesemir told him. “Coen comes from the Griffin school…but Kaer Seren is no longer safe to inhabit.”

“Jealous mages,” Coen explained, eyes flickering to the mages once more. “They caused an avalanche, killed many of the Witchers there and damaged Kaer Seren greatly…which is why I’m surprised to see mages here,” he added, looking to Vesemir at that, who just nodded in understanding. “Witchers and mages don’t usually get along, unless we’re forced to work together that is.”

“I get that,” Jaskier muttered, a shiver running up his spine. Coen looked back to Jaskier, yellow-green eyes filled with curiosity at that. 

“And who might you be?” Coen asked instead, stepping closer to Jaskier before pausing as Jaskier flinched back. His gaze flickered to Geralt who had shifted slightly to stand beside Jaskier’s side as Jaskier flinched back.

“This is Jaskier,” Geralt said, voice unusually quiet and soft compared to what Coen knew from when he had met Geralt in previous years and meeting him on the Path. “Jaskier, this is Coen.”

Coen offered his hand, which Jaskier cautiously took. 

“Pleasure,” Coen said with a smile. “Geralt’s not usually all soft and friendly, it’s good to see he can actually make friends.”

Geralt hummed lowly in his throat as Jaskier looked to him. Jaskier knew that far too well…but after his rescue from Nilfgaard, he had noticed that Geralt had softened, more content to offer touch and reassurance. 

“Still not sure why there are mages here,” Eskel piped up from where he had gotten Lambert into a headlock and was knuckling Lambert’s scalp as Ciri watched them, giggling. 

“It’s a long story,” Vesemir said slowly, hand reaching up to rub at his chin. “Why don’t you and Coen stable your horses and get your supplies inside…and the story can be told over lunch and a hot drink.” 

“Sounds good,” Eskel said with a nod as he released the struggling Lambert, with Lambert staggering backwards and falling onto his backside as Eskel released him. Eskel grinned at the scowling Lambert, winking at him before he grabbed his horse’s reins.

“C’mon, Scorpion, let’s get you some food, huh?” Eskel murmured, patting the horse’s neck. “You can go torment Roach.”

Geralt snorted, looking at Eskel in disbelief. “Please, Roach won’t take his shit.”

“All right, all right, that’s enough,” Vesemir sighed as he saw Eskel rearing up for an argument. “Stable Scorpion and let’s get inside. Ciri, come on, you can come help me get lunch ready.”

“Sure, Uncle Vesemir,” Ciri piped up, surprising all around her. Vesemir just stared at the young girl who came to stand by his side in disbelief before his face softened and he gave a small smile, resting a calloused hand on her head. 

“Come on, Cub…and, Eskel, do something about that goat of yours,” Vesemir called as an afterthought as he turned to walk back to the keep.

Ciri headed off after Vesemir, chattering a mile a minute, as the Witchers and Jaskier stared after her, still in shock.

“Uncle?” Eskel muttered in disbelief, shaking his head. “Geralt, where did you find this girl?”

“She lost her family,” Jaskier spoke up in lieu of Geralt, brow furrowed as he stared after Ciri. “She lost everyone she knew and loved…she’s alone in this world, so she’s trying to find somewhere she fits, somewhere she’s taken care of.”

Geralt frowned as he listened to Jaskier’s words, hearing the hurt and longing hidden deep within Jaskier’s voice. It’s as though Jaskier was speaking from experience…and Geralt suddenly recalled what Jaskier had told him, about his family, on their way up the mountain to Kaer Morhen. He recalled the hurt and bitterness in Jaskier’s voice as he spoke about his family, how alone he’d felt being the black sheep of the family…and suddenly aspects of Jaskier’s outlandish personality made sense.

Jaskier had just been trying to find somewhere he fit, to find people who liked him for him and never judged him. 

A lump formed in Geralt’s throat as he was suddenly reminded of all the times he tried to get Jaskier to leave, insulting him and just leaving him…but he could never shake Jaskier for long. 

It seemed Jaskier had sensed a kindred spirit in Geralt. Both of them misunderstood by others around them and both of them alone. Of course, after they had both settled into an understanding with each other, with Geralt used to Jaskier’s presence, even finding comfort in the endless chatter and singing. 

And then Geralt had ruined it all on that day on the mountain, with angry, thoughtless words. No wonder Jaskier had been so broken after that day. He’d just found another family with Geralt and then Geralt had thrown him away, just like everyone else in Jaskier’s life – his family, the Countess De Stael, all of the lovers that left when the morning came…and then Geralt. 

Geralt swallowed thickly around the lump as he stared at Jaskier. He understood now why Jaskier thought that he wouldn’t come for him, why he’d just leave him. Everyone else in his life had done so, so why would Geralt be any different?

Geralt swore to himself that he’d never let Jaskier feel that way again. Jaskier would have his family. He’d have Geralt, Ciri, Yennefer, Vesemir, Lambert, Coen and Eskel by his side for the rest of their days.

“Come on, Jask,” he said, voice rough from the lump in his throat. “Let’s get you inside.”

Jaskier looked up at him, looking away from Lambert chasing Lil Bleater around the yard after Lil Bleater had leapt up and bit Lambert’s butt, and nodded, cheeks red and flushed from the cold wind. 

Geralt scooped Jaskier up into his arms, holding the shivering bard close. Jaskier gave a small moan as he buried his ice cold nose into the warm skin of Geralt’s neck. 

“S’warm,” Jaskier mumbled into Geralt’s neck. Geralt chuckled quietly as he held Jaskier closer, side stepping Lambert and Lil Bleater as they ran by. 

“You never did like the cold,” Geralt murmured as he carried Jaskier towards the towering keep. “On the days it’s too cold for you to come out and watch, you can sit in the library. Some of those books haven’t been touched in centuries…and I’m sure Vesemir would like someone to discuss them with.”

“Sounds good,” Jaskier yawned against his neck. “I can learn about the other schools…sounds interesting.”

“You always did like history,” Geralt chuckled. “Always trying to find out all the information you could. Definitely helped getting the whole story out of some of the clients.”

Geralt felt Jaskier’s smile against his neck, which in turn brought a small smile to his lips, glad that he made Jaskier feel happy about something…he deserved all of the happiness he could get after all of the shit and pain he had gone through.

By the time that Geralt had carried Jaskier into the small hall, the mages had already come inside and had settled themselves at the table. Yennefer looked up as Geralt walked in, raising her eyebrows as she looked at Jaskier snuggled closely in Geralt’s arms, face tucked into Geralt’s neck. 

“Cold,” he mouthed to her, making her smirk as she turned back to her conversation with Triss. Geralt carefully placed Jaskier on the bench, making sure Jaskier’s cloak was still wrapped securely around him, before he went to go stoke the fire smouldering in the fireplace, stoking it until it grew, blazing and warm. 

“Ooh, this is nice,” Coen groaned as he walked in, heading straight to the fireplace and rubbing his hands together as he stood before the roaring flame, warming himself up. Geralt left him to it, going back to sit beside Jaskier, whose teeth had begun chattering. 

“Humans,” Geralt rumbled as he pulled Jaskier close, knowing he ran a few degrees hotter than humans. Jaskier immediately curled closer, cold, stiff fingers clutching onto Geralt’s shirt. “Can’t have you freezing, hmm?”

“N-Nice to know you care,” Jaskier’s teeth chattered. It was meant as a joke but it made Geralt stiffen, guilt twisting his stomach. 

“I do, Jaskier,” Geralt promised him, “and I know I never really showed it before, but I’m going to make it up to you.”

Jaskier’s fingers clenched Geralt’s shirt tighter but his grip loosened. He didn’t feel so angry or hurt about the mountain anymore, not after being back by Geralt’s side and seeing that Geralt had truly tried to show that he cared, the once hardened Witcher softening, willing to offer reassurance and comfort…and willingly call Jaskier his friend. 

“I know,” was all Jaskier murmured, breathing in Geralt’s familiar scent and relaxing further against his warm, broad bulk. His fingers were tingling almost uncomfortably as the warmth flooded back into his chilled body. He looked up, peering over Geralt’s shoulder at the sound of voices, seeing Lambert and Eskel had both entered the hall.

“I swear, Eskel, I’m gonna roast that goat of yours if it tries to bite me again,” Lambert was growling, which just made Eskel laugh.

“Lil Bleater likes to eat trash, can’t blame her nature,” Eskel poked back with a grin. Lambert snarled and lunged at Eskel, tackling him to the floor. Jaskier watched as they both rolled around the stone floor, grappling with one another. 

Coen just shook his head as he stepped over the rolling ball of bodies, coming over to sit beside Jaskier and Geralt. 

“Children,” Coen sighed, shaking his head, though his yellow-green eyes were fixed on Jaskier and Geralt, looking curious. Geralt snorted, giving Coen a look as he wrapped his arms more securely around Jaskier, holding the lean bard closer. 

“You’re the same age as Lambert, Coen,” Geralt returned. 

“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure his brain cells didn’t develop past age ten,” Coen grinned.

“I heard that!” Lambert snarled from where he was pinned on the floor under Eskel. Coen rolled his eyes good naturedly as he looked to Jaskier, who gave a weak grin. Despite the unsettling acid yellow-green eyes, Coen was a lot more relaxed and open than Jaskier had expected. Lambert was still gruff and closed off, a bit like Geralt when Jaskier first met him, and Eskel seemed to be a little suspicious, but polite. 

“All right, all right, that’s enough!” Vesemir’s voice cut through Eskel’s and Lambert’s playful snarling. “Don’t make me come over there.”

Eskel and Lambert knew that wasn’t a threat to be taken lightly and both leapt apart, looking dishevelled as they came to the table, collapsing heavily on the benches and sprawling out. Geralt rolled his eyes and shook his head as Eskel grinned lazily at him from across the table.

Jaskier straightened up as Ciri helped Vesemir to carry some plates of food into the room, just simple bread and meat, but enough to feed a small army. Jaskier smiled at Vesemir as he came back into the hall, pressing a warm mug into Jaskier’s hands.

“Good for healing and sleep,” Vesemir murmured to him. 

“Thank you,” Jaskier murmured in return, leaning back against Geralt. 

“So, Vesemir, what’s going on?” Eskel asked, eyes flickering around the table as he reached out to grab some food, famished from the journey up. Vesemir settled down to sit on the bench, with Ciri immediately sitting next him, liking the gruff old Witcher. Vesemir just raised his eyebrows, his gaze drifting to Geralt.

“This is Geralt’s story to tell,” Vesemir rumbled lowly, folding his hands in front of him on the table. Geralt exhaled, looking down to Jaskier, who glanced at him, giving a weak smile, before he looked back to Eskel, who was staring at him as he slowly chewed his food. 

With a sigh, Geralt launched into the story of Ciri, of Nilfgaard and of Jaskier’s capture. As he told the story, Eskel frowned, looking to Jaskier, who remained quiet, sipping at the warm, calming tea that Vesemir had made for him. 

Eskel’s frown deepened and he looked to Coen, who looked rather disturbed at the tale. Eskel looked back to Geralt, watching and listening to Geralt as he continued to tell the story, getting to the part where they had just rescued Jaskier. He tilted his head as he regarded his brother. He had known Geralt for practically all of his life. Eskel didn’t have many memories of him time before Kaer Morhen, the only memories he had was a hazy one of his mother singing a song, one that he couldn’t forget. Geralt was in the same group as him during training and they had become fast friends. He had stayed by Geralt’s side as Geralt had undergone further Trials, ones that the other boys who had survived had not. Eskel remembered seeing Geralt laying there, once brown curly hair turned white and straight…and the once playful, mischievous Geralt had closed up, pulling back from the others, though Eskel refused to let Geralt push him away. 

He knew Geralt preferred to be by himself, he didn’t get hurt that way…but it had made Eskel relieved to see Geralt opening up more over the years, becoming more like the boy he once knew. 

Eskel frowned at that thought. Geralt had started opening up, becoming more relaxed at Kaer Morhen, only once he had met this bard, the one who never left him alone. Geralt had become more receptive to touch, more willing to clasp a friendly hand on his shoulder or give his low, deep laugh, chuckling along to stories or Lambert’s antics. 

As he listened to Geralt explain how the mages came into it, he watched how he interacted with Jaskier. The young bard was leaning against Geralt and Geralt seemed rather content to have the bard leaning against him. Eskel had been surprised to see that Jaskier was actually just about the same height as Geralt, though his lean build made him seem a little smaller compared to Geralt’s bulk. 

Eskel’s sharp eyes also picked up that every time that Jaskier shifted, even the smallest amount, Geralt would shift too, ready to protect the bard…but it seemed to be a reflex, something that Geralt seemed to do without thought. Eskel’s gaze shifted to Vesemir, seeing that the old Witcher was watching Geralt intently and Eskel knew that Vesemir saw that he had seen. 

“So the girl is to be trained then?” Coen’s voice broke Eskel from his thoughts and he pulled his attention away from the bard and back to the conversation at hand.

“Yes,” one of the mages answered. "We will train her to control her powers. Vesemir is planning the Witcher aspect of her training."

“Apologies, I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” Coen said cordially as he looked to the mages, who were all sitting primly at the end of the table, though one of them looked bored, while the other three were looking at the new Witchers with intrigue.

“I am Tissaia, Rectoress of Aretuza,” the older one introduced herself. “This is Triss, Sabrina and Yennefer.”

Eskel’s eyebrows shot up at that and he looked more closely at the purple eyed mage. 

Ohh, all of the stories that Geralt had told him and Lambert about her over the years. Eskel and Lambert had always thought he was an idiot for letting the mage get close…but Geralt was always odd like that, but at least the purple eyed sorceress had at least been useful enough to save the poor bard.

“All of you boys will be helping to train Ciri,” Vesemir grunted, pulling Eskel’s gaze to him. “Eskel, you will help her with the Signs. Coen and Geralt will assist in sword training and Lambert will take on the hand-to-hand fight aspect. This will be done alongside Ciri’s magic training.”

Lambert grinned broadly at that, winking at Ciri. “Sounds like fun, little Cub.”

Ciri nodded at Lambert, smiling at him. 

Jaskier shook his head, a small fond smile on his lips.

“What are you smiling about, Lark?” Geralt whispered in his ear. Jaskier tilted his head to meet Geralt’s warm, amber eyes.

“Ciri already has them wrapped around her finger,” he murmured back as he looked to Ciri, heart warm as she laughed with Lambert, with Eskel joining in on the conversation. “I’m glad…she needs them. It’ll help her heal.”

Geralt rested his chin on Jaskier’s shoulder, making Jaskier turn his head slightly so he could meet Geralt’s gaze.

“We’re all here for you too, Jask,” Geralt said quietly, hands gently rubbing Jaskier’s arms. “Anything you need, to help you heal…I’ll do what I can.”

Jaskier gave a weak smile, sighing softly, and gave a small nod. He wasn’t sure how to go about healing or even where to begin. He didn’t want to even think about what had happened with Nilfgaard or with the creepy Cahir.

Jaskier just wanted to go back to how everything was before the mountain, when all he had to worry about was his songs and making sure Geralt stayed alive. Jaskier closed his eyes with another small sigh. 

He didn’t feel like that Jaskier anymore…and he didn’t think he could ever go back to being that carefree, to being that Jaskier ever again.

Part of him felt broken, fractured…and he was scared that he’d never be completely fixed ever again, that he’d be scared of the shadows around him forever, fearing Nilfgaard’s return for him, fearing Cahir coming for him. 

Geralt hummed lowly in his ear, a response to something that Coen had said to him, and Jaskier sighed softly again, closing his eyes and leaning back further against Geralt’s chest. 

It wasn’t something he could tell Geralt though. Even though Geralt said he’d support him, help him heal, Jaskier doubted that Geralt knew just how broken he was…and he didn’t want Geralt to know.

He couldn’t bear to lose Geralt again, not if Geralt found out how truly broken the bard was inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments!!
> 
> Eskel and Coen are in the game now, so hopefully things can move a bit quicker. I decided Eskel was the best to get an outside opinion on Geralt's and Jaskier's relationship, since he had just arrived and has known Geralt the longest.
> 
> And a few of you were correct, the dream Witch was Geralt's mother...not sure if I'll use her yet, but I see her as one who will stick to the edges and meddle in Geralt's life if needed.


	23. Hot Springs

Geralt glanced to the side, seeing Jaskier sitting once again in his position on the stairs near the training ground, cloak pulled tightly around him, as his blue eyes watched Lambert and Eskel sparring each other in front of him. Geralt frowned as he watched Jaskier pull his winter cloak tighter around himself, soft sigh carrying across the training ground, even over the clanging of Eskel’s and Lambert’s swords. Jaskier was so still compared to what Geralt was used to. He’d usually be tapping his feet, or humming, or shifting or fidgeting, just needing to move at all times…but not now. Now, Jaskier was still and quiet. Geralt hadn’t heard him hum since he had rescued him, hadn’t heard him sing. Jaskier hadn’t even picked up his damn lute…and Geralt was growing more worried by the day. 

They’d been in Kaer Morhen for a week now and though Jaskier had begun to relax around the others, he was still so quiet and unsure. He still hadn’t spoken about what was bothering him, just giving Geralt weak smiles if Geralt asked him about it.

Geralt knew Jaskier was struggling. Struggling with his memories, with still being injured…but Geralt didn’t know how to get Jaskier to just trust him and open up without pushing Jaskier too far and too soon. 

“Isn’t that right, Geralt?”

“Huh?” Geralt asked, his attention being dragged away from the too-still bard and back to Ciri and Coen. Coen was staring at him, eyebrow cocked, from where he stood next to Ciri, helping to correct her stance, a wooden training sword held tightly in Ciri’s hands. He and Coen had been the ones assigned to train Ciri that day, getting her started on sword handling…but Geralt had been distracted by Jaskier as Coen had helped correct Ciri’s stances.

Coen’s yellow-green eyes looked at him intently, darting over his face and reading the miniscule signs there before he sighed, face softening slightly in understanding as he glanced towards Jaskier himself. 

“I was saying that the correct footwork makes all of the difference when it comes to a fight,” Coen repeated himself. Geralt nodded in agreement, looking down at Ciri, who stared up at him, face screwed up in a frown. 

“He’s right,” Geralt grunted. “Your feet aren’t right and you’ll be weakened.”

“But how?”

Geralt demonstrated the answer to Ciri’s question by suddenly pushing her shoulder, watching as she stumbled to the side. 

“If your stance was correct, you wouldn’t move,” Geralt explained. “You move on your terms…not on your opponent’s.”

Ciri nodded, face becoming determined as she shifted back into her ready stance. Coen helped to adjust her feet, making sure she was in a correct, strong stance. 

“See?” Coen asked her with a smile as he pushed on her shoulder, though this time she barely moved. “Strong stance means you won’t be moved by your opponent. They won’t be able to drive you back or manoeuvre you into a place that puts your life at risk.”

Ciri nodded, straightening up. Coen nodded as he looked over her stance again.

“Okay,” Coen sighed with a smile. “Let’s go over the basics. Blocks, parries and attacks.”

Ciri nodded eagerly, readjusting her hold on the wooden training sword. Coen glanced at Geralt, seeing his gaze had drifted back towards Jaskier. Coen rubbed at his beard as he regarded Geralt. He could tell that the white haired Witcher was worried about the bard…and he’d never seen Geralt worry like this before.

“Geralt, I’ve got this,” Coen murmured to him. “Why don’t you go check on Jaskier? He looks like he needs someone to talk to.” 

Geralt blinked at Coen, amber eyes confused for a moment before they cleared up and Geralt gave a small smile and a nod, giving Coen a thankful clap to the shoulder. 

“Listen to Coen, Ciri, he’s an excellent teacher,” Geralt told her quietly. Ciri nodded, glancing back to Jaskier.

“I will…take care of Jaskier?”

“I will,” Geralt murmured, gently stroking her hair before he turned and walked towards where Jaskier was sitting. 

Jaskier shook his head as he watched Lambert go flying through the air thanks to a strong Aard from Eskel. Somehow Lambert managed to swear the whole way he was flying through the air, even once he landed heavily on the ground and rolled away. 

He looked up when he saw Geralt walking towards him, deftly avoiding Lambert as he managed to climb back onto his feet and charge at Eskel. 

“I thought you were teaching Ciri?” Jaskier asked in confusion as Geralt settled down to sit on the steps beside Jaskier, stretching his long legs out. Geralt hummed as he looked around the training yard, watching Eskel and Lambert spar for a moment before he continued looking around. 

Triss and Yennefer were sitting on a bench, both of them looking over a collection of books and conversing with one another. Sabrina had left the day previous, going back out so she could be seen and suspicion wouldn’t fall on her. 

Tissaia was inside with Vesemir, who had offered to show her the library. He would be outside soon though, Geralt knew, he wanted to keep an eye on Ciri’s training. 

“Well, Coen has Ciri’s sword training in hand for now,” Geralt told him simply. “It’s best not to have both of us hovering over her. Coen will take care of her.”

“He seems like a nice guy,” Jaskier agreed, glancing at Geralt. He wasn’t sure why Geralt had come to sit beside him. Even though he said that Coen had Ciri’s training taken care of, Jaskier knew that Geralt would like to watch, to make sure it was being done right. 

He was a bit of a perfectionist that way. 

“You still didn’t want to watch?” Jaskier asked. Geralt tilted his head to look at him considering, before shaking his head, looking back to Ciri to see that Coen was gently leading her through the stances and the different moves, praising her when she got it correct and calmly correcting her when she got it wrong.

“She’ll be fine,” Geralt murmured. “She doesn’t need me hovering over her.”

Jaskier blinked, surprised by that, but said nothing. He shivered as a cold wind blew through and looked up, sighing, when he saw that the snow had finally begun to fall. Geralt hummed as he looked up at the drifting snowflakes.

“The snow has arrived,” he said quietly. “Earlier this year…good thing we came up when we did,” he added, looking to Jaskier with a small smile. Jaskier returned it weakly, though his stomach churned uncomfortably as he was reminded of the reason why they were early…why Jaskier was there in the first place.

Jaskier just made an agreeing noise in his throat, looking back over the training ground in time to see Lambert pulling a now swordless Eskel into a headlock, laughing triumphantly as he rubbed his knuckles across Eskel’s skull. Eskel was snarling and swearing at Lambert as he struggled in Lambert’s grip.

Coen and Ciri had paused in their training to watch, with Ciri giggling as Coen shook his head in amusement. 

“Idiots,” Geralt muttered, getting Jaskier’s attention. Jaskier looked to him, seeing he was watching his brothers with fondness in his amber eyes. Jaskier tilted his head slightly as he looked at Geralt, taking in the relaxed posture and softened face.

It was nice to see Geralt like this, seeing him amongst his brothers, his family…and seeing him finally able to relax without having to worry about attackers or being run out of town. Even his hair was down, though the snowflakes had begun settling in Geralt’s white hair, giving it a bit of a shimmer.

Geralt turned his attention back to him, a small smile pulling at his lips when he saw Jaskier was staring at him.

“What?” Geralt asked, cocking his head. Jaskier just gave a small smile, shaking his head. 

“You’ve got snow in your hair,” Jaskier murmured, reaching forward to brush the wet, white flakes out of Geralt’s hair. Geralt chuckled low and deep, amber eyes sparkling with amusement.

Jaskier gave another shiver as another gust blew through the training yard, over the open steps where Jaskier and Geralt were sitting. Geralt frowned he noticed Jaskier’s cheeks and nose had turned pink with cold again. 

“Come on, let’s get you inside,” Geralt sighed, reaching forward to pull Jaskier’s cloak tighter around him. “Can’t have you freezing on me.”

Jaskier gave a weak smile before looking to Ciri worriedly. Geralt followed his gaze and sighed. Ciri seemed fine at the moment, especially since she was in part of the training yard that was blocked from the wind, and because she was moving and keeping warm…but it didn’t hurt to make sure she wouldn’t push herself too far.

“Coen,” Geralt called, gaining his attention. “Keep an eye on Ciri, make sure she doesn’t get too cold. Remember she’s human, she gets cold.”

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Coen promised. 

“We’ve got her, Geralt, don’t worry,” Triss called from where she and Yennefer were sitting, wrapped in a heavy fur cloak. “She’ll be fine.”

Geralt nodded, looking to Jaskier, who looked happy to know that Triss and Yennefer were also looking out for Ciri, though he knew that Coen wouldn’t let any harm to Ciri, he also knew that Witchers didn’t feel the cold like humans did and that he just might not realise if Ciri was hiding it. 

Geralt leaned down to scoop Jaskier up, with Jaskier automatically lifting his arms to wrap them securely around Geralt’s neck once Geralt had properly scooped him up, holding him close and securely to his chest. Jaskier sighed, burying his face into the warm skin of Geralt’s neck as Geralt carried him inside. 

Geralt hummed thoughtfully, pausing in the doorway of the keep before he turned to walk into the small hall. He placed Jaskier onto the bench before sitting in front of him.

“We didn’t check your feet this morning,” Geralt told him as he patted his thighs. “Let’s see how it’s healing.” 

Jaskier turned on the bench so he could stretch out, placing his feet on Geralt’s thighs. Geralt gently pulled Jaskier’s boots off and unwrapped the bandages, placing them aside. Jaskier watched as Geralt examined the bottoms of his feet, face pulling into a frown as he hummed low in his throat. 

“I-Is it okay?” Jaskier asked worriedly as Geralt remained silent. Geralt finally looked up, amber eyes meeting Jaskier’s worried blues and gave him a small smile.

“I believe it’s healed,” Geralt told him, running a finger over one of the healed scars covering the soft skin of Jaskier’s feet. Jaskier jerked slightly, the sensation ticklish, as he blinked up at Geralt.

“Really?”

“Mmhmm,” Geralt hummed as he carefully moved Jaskier’s legs off of his own before standing up. He turned to Jaskier, smiling as he offered his hands. “Let’s see how you go taking your own weight.”

Jaskier nodded, taking in a deep, steeling breath as he accepted Geralt’s help, allowing the white haired Witcher to help him up off the bench and into a standing position. Geralt carefully took his hands away from Jaskier, but kept them close just in case, as his amber eyes watched Jaskier’s every movement sharply. 

“Try take a step,” Geralt murmured as he took a small step back himself, though still kept his arms out stretched, prepared for anything. Jaskier took in another breath, keeping his gaze on Geralt as he took a small step forward.

His legs, weakened from lack of use – especially with Geralt refusing to let him walk at all - , buckled slightly under him immediately. Geralt was there just as quickly, hands gripping Jaskier’s forearms and keeping him upright. The strong grip on his forearms allowed Jaskier to straighten up once again, looking at Geralt with determination. Geralt’s large hands remained on Jaskier’s forearms, even as Jaskier gripped Geralt’s forearms in return, knowing that Geralt wouldn’t let him fall.

“Small steps,” Geralt murmured as he slowly took a small step back. Jaskier matched it, his gaze never leaving Geralt’s as they slowly walked across the small hall. Eventually the shaky, weak feeling disappeared and Jaskier felt more secure standing on his own two feet and walking. 

Carefully Geralt released his grip from Jaskier’s arms and swiftly took a few steps backwards, amber eyes still fixed on Jaskier. Geralt gave him a small, encouraging nod and Jaskier returned it with a small smile, before his expression turned into one of determination. He took careful steps towards Geralt, making sure he didn’t move too quickly and take a misstep. 

Geralt smiled, eyes warming once Jaskier had finally reached him without stumbling. Jaskier grinned at him in return, blue eyes sparkling with happiness. 

Jaskier felt relief flood through him, making him feel giddy once he managed to reach Geralt. Geralt reached out to pull Jaskier into a hug, which Jaskier returned, squeezing Geralt tightly.

He didn’t feel so useless now. No longer would he need to be carried or coddled in fear of wounds being reopened or hurting himself. Now he could be _useful_ again. 

A low hum resounding in Geralt’s chest, which Jaskier felt through his own chest.

“You know,” Geralt said, sounding thoughtful. “I believe I promised to show you the hot springs…and now that you’re healed, I think this is the perfect time.” 

Jaskier pulled back, grinning broadly as he looked to Geralt.

“Oh-ho-ho, yes!” Jaskier said, gripping Geralt’s heavy jerkin in excitement. Geralt chuckled, giving a nod. 

“Come on then,” he murmured, before he looped his arms with Jaskier, shifting Jaskier’s hand to grip at his bicep. “Just in case,” he told the amused Jaskier. “The floor is a bit uneven…years of everyone running over it.”

Jaskier nodded, hand clutching on tighter to Geralt’s arm, as Geralt led him from the room, though he grabbed Jaskier’s boots on the way out. He and Jaskier slowly made their way through the halls, with Geralt taking care to help Jaskier down the staircases, gaining a bemused look from the bard.

“Just making sure,” Geralt told him as they reached the bottom of the stairs. “You’ve only just healed and your muscles will be slightly weakened from not using your legs as often as you used to.”

“All right, all right,” sighed Jaskier as he looped his arm with Geralt’s again, letting Geralt lead him through the winding hallways of the keep. He stared at the paintings and tapestries lining the walls as Geralt led him past, still in awe of the history that Kaer Morhen had, even after the sacking. 

“Here it is,” Geralt murmured before he pushed open a heavy wooden door with his free hand. Jaskier’s eyes widened as he stepped into the room. The room was dark, illuminated by the candles around the wall which Geralt lit with a quick Igni. The walls were stone, the shape of the room looking as though it had been carved into the mountain that Kaer Morhen rested against. 

A large hot spring took up half the room, the water deep and steaming, looking like it could fit over fifty Witchers in there at a time…and it probably once did. 

Wooden benches lined the half of the room, pressed against the walls. Large, fogged mirrors were placed along the walls where the stone was flat enough. 

“This is…this is…whoa,” Jaskier breathed, taking the cavernous room. Geralt chuckled quietly as he led Jaskier further into the room. He unravelled Jaskier’s arm from around his own and walked over to a heavy cupboard pressed against the wall next to the door. He opened the heavy doors, which had been waterproofed years ago, and pulled out two large, dry towels.

Jaskier stared at the dry towels in disbelief. 

“You know, with how steamy it is in here, I’m pretty sure they’d be damp,” Jaskier said matter-of-factly. Geralt laughed at that, nodding his head as he placed the towels aside.

“I’m pretty certain that cupboard has some sort of magic infused within it,” Geralt told him with a laugh, shaking his head. “Eskel, Lambert and I could never work it out and Vesemir refuses to divulge the secret.”

Jaskier chuckled, looking to Geralt and seeing that he was already unlacing his jerkin. Jaskier flushed slightly, seeing Geralt so quickly discarding himself of clothes. Jaskier turned his gaze away, looking down at the buttons on his doublet, focusing on getting it undone. 

Soon they were both undressed, their clothes placed haphazardly on one of the benches, and were both climbing into the hot springs. 

“Oooh, I’m never leaving,” Jaskier groaned as he settled down on one of the benches that had been carved into the pool, warmth flooding through his body. Geralt chuckled as he settled down on the bench next to Jaskier, though leaving a little bit of space in between them. Jaskier ran his hands through the warm water, breathing in deeply as the tension slowly seeped from his body. 

“Where’d this come from?” Jaskier asked, looking around the room. “The hot springs, how are they maintained?”

“Hot springs are natural from the mountain…but are slightly different from the other hot springs you may have visited,” Geralt explained, looking around. “It has some sort of magical property, which is a reason why Kaer Morhen was built here…and we were once only allowed to bathe in here after our Trials, but now there are no Trials, well, it’s a waste to let it go unused.”

“What are these magical properties?” Jaskier questioned, cocking his head as he looked to Geralt. 

“Well, Vesemir always said that it helps with healing,” Geralt mused, leaning back, wet hair curling around his back. “We’ve also never had to clean it, so I’m counting that as one of its magical effects.”

Jaskier laughed softly at that, tilting his head back to rest of the edge of the spring behind him. 

“You can also use your oils and soaps in here,” Geralt told him quietly. “It doesn’t affect the water.”

Jaskier smiled tiredly at that, giving a relaxed nod, giving a heavy sigh. They both sat in silence, just relaxing and enjoying the calmness and just being there with each other. 

He looked as Geralt stood up, stretching out. His eyes were drawn to a new scar on Geralt’s leg, making him frown. He didn’t remember that one…and that one looked like a bite. 

“What made that one?” Jaskier asked, edging forward to gently trace the scar on his thigh. 

“Hmm?” Geralt asked, glancing down. He was used to Jaskier touching him during the baths when they were on the Path, with the task of bathing and taking care of Geralt seeming to calm Jaskier. He saw that Jaskier was touching the scar left by the ghoul, brow furrowed in concern.

“Ah, that one,” Geralt muttered as he sat back down in the water, hiding the scar from Jaskier’s worried gaze. “It was just before I met Ciri actually, came across a camp filled with bodies that a merchant was trying to bury…but a little too late.”

Jaskier winced at that, knowing that bodies left unburied drew the attention of some pretty nasty monsters.

“There were a lot of them and one managed to sink its teeth into me,” Geralt murmured. 

“But you’re okay?” Jaskier asked worriedly, shifting closer to Geralt. “I mean, you’re here and all…but it wasn’t too bad, was it?”

Geralt took in Jaskier’s worried face before he sighed and shook his head.

“No, it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle,” he lied, giving a small smile. He didn’t want to worry Jaskier, didn’t want to tell him how close it had come…that he wouldn’t have survived if it wasn’t for Visenna coming back into his life. Not to mention that would have been an awkward conversation to have, to tell Jaskier that his mother was still alive…and that she had given him up to Vesemir. 

“Knocked me around for a couple of days, but I was fine…I am fine,” Geralt reassured him. Jaskier gave a sigh of relief, relaxing once again. Geralt did feel slightly bad for lying to Jaskier, but with everything Jaskier was going through, everything he still had to deal with…Geralt didn’t want to burden him with any more worries. 

They sat in comfortable silence once more and it was only when Jaskier’s eyes began to drift close that Geralt moved.

“All right,” he sighed, standing up in the pool. “We should go meet the others before they come looking for us.”

Jaskier pouted at that, sinking deeper into the water as he looked up at Geralt with beseeching, wide blue eyes. Geralt just shook his head with a low chuckle, the wet strands flicking with the movement. He knew the power of Jaskier’s puppy eyes, many a time it had him agreeing to stay in inns, but this wasn’t a time he’d fall for them.

“You’re going to go all pruney, Jaskier, and I remember how much you hate that,” Geralt chuckled as he stretched out, muscles relaxed from the heat of the water. “We can come back every day if you want to, I promise.” 

Jaskier gave a dramatic sigh, flicking his damp hair out of his eyes, before he nodded, looking at the pruned skin of his fingers. 

“I suppose so,” he murmured before standing up and turning towards the steps carved into the hot spring. Geralt sighed softly, far too quietly for Jaskier to hear, when he caught sight of the scars marring Jaskier’s lean back.

It was a reminder of his failure…his failure to protect the one person who had freely chosen to be by his side, who had become the most important person in Geralt’s life, even if Geralt hadn’t realised it at the time. 

Swallowing deeply, trying to get rid of the lump that had appeared, Geralt followed Jaskier out from the spring, grabbing one of the towels from the bench, glancing at Jaskier as he did the same, slowly drying his long limbs off. 

Jaskier hummed under his breath as he dried off, seeing Geralt glancing at him through his peripheral as Geralt heard him humming. He heard Geralt’s soft sigh, glancing at him just in time to see his shoulders drop slightly in relief, and he turned away, hiding a smile. 

He paused briefly in his humming as he realised this was the first time he had hummed since his rescue…since his abduction really. Shaking that thought from his head, Jaskier continued to dry off. 

Jaskier had just turned slightly, going to dry off his back when he caught glimpse of something in the corner of his eye. He turned his head, frowning when he caught sight of a mirror. 

His humming abruptly cut off when he caught sight of his back reflected the mirror and he gave a shaky breath, reaching around as best as he could to touch the freshly healed, raised pink scars. 

Not an inch of his back was smooth skin anymore…it was all scars, some small and flat, while others were large and raised. 

Suddenly he was assaulted with memories…of being beaten, of being threatened...he remembered the pain, how much it _burned_ every time he shifted…remembering how weak he had felt, how hopeless he had felt.

He remembered giving up.

A warm hand suddenly rested on his shoulder, another turning Jaskier’s head, breaking his gaze from the mirror and from the sight of the scars on his back…from the memories.  
Geralt’s worried amber eyes were staring at him, face pinched with concern.

“Jask?” he murmured, rubbing a thumb against Jaskier’s cheek. He had been drying off, listening to Jaskier’s humming and feeling relieved just to hear him making some sort of noise, some sort of music again…but then, all of a sudden, the humming stopped and the sharp smell of distress hit Geralt’s nostrils. He had turned to see Jaskier’s back facing one of the mirrors, with his head turned just right so Jaskier could stare at his reflection…at the scars covering his back.

What scared Geralt the most was the blank, hollowness in Jaskier’s blue eyes. 

Now they were here, with Geralt trying to coax Jaskier out of whatever memory was plaguing his mind. 

“Come on, Jask,” Geralt murmured, listening to Jaskier’s heart racing within his chest. “You’re safe. Come back to me, Lark.”

With a shuddering breath, Jaskier blinked, his distressed blue eyes becoming more alert as he focused on Geralt’s face.

“G-Geralt?” he whimpered weakly, eyes darting across Geralt’s face. “W-What happened?”

Geralt continued to stroke Jaskier’s face, just trying to keep him in the present and to prevent him falling back into the memories that were so clearly haunting him.

“I think you had a flashback,” Geralt murmured. “You were distressed and…and not quite here.”

“Oh,” Jaskier murmured, wincing as he suddenly remembered, glancing over his shoulder to the mirror and to the reflection of his scars. “Right.”

Geralt grabbed Jaskier’s forgotten towel, wrapping around his thin waist. He shifted Jaskier to sit on one of the nearby benches, sitting down beside him and grasping one of Jaskier’s hands within both of his own. 

“What was it, Jaskier?” Geralt asked, knowing that he needed to. “What did you remember?”

Jaskier gave another shuddering breath and shook his head. “I don’t…I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Jaskier…”

“Please, Geralt, please don’t ask me,” Jaskier begged weakly, looking up at him with pleading blue eyes. “I-I can’t… _please_.”

Geralt sighed, hearing the racing of Jaskier’s heart, smelling the distress pouring off of the bard. Jaskier was still distressed, more likely to break down now. As much as Geralt wanted to help, he couldn’t push…not now, not when Jaskier was so vulnerable.

“Not today, but soon, Jaskier,” Geralt rumbled quietly, stroking his thumb across Jaskier’s knuckles. “We need to talk soon. You need to talk…I can’t lose you to your memories, Jaskier. I can’t.”

Jaskier gave a shaky breath and nodded, swallowing deeply. “Yeah…yeah, all right.”

“Good,” Geralt sighed. They sat there for a little while longer while Jaskier calmed, his heart finally settling back into a slower beat, his breathing no longer ragged.

Jaskier leaned tiredly against Geralt, exhausted from the memories and the emotions it had brought back. 

“We should head back,” Jaskier said finally, feeling more in control of his emotions now. “Make sure Ciri is okay and isn't an icicle.”

Geralt gave a small, sad smile at that, nuzzling into Jaskier’s soft, slightly damp hair. Trust Jaskier to worry about others more than he worried about himself. 

“Good idea,” he murmured instead. Jaskier leaned back, smiling weakly at him, before he stood up and quickly got dressed, making sure he didn’t look at any of the mirrors as he did so. 

Once they were dressed, Geralt looked to Jaskier once more, who just smiled tiredly at him. Geralt offered his arm again, getting a quiet laugh from Jaskier, which made him smile just a little. Jaskier looped his arm around Geralt’s once again, leaning against his side with a soft sigh, before they both headed back into the Keep to join the others.

Later that night, they were all gathered in one of the lounges. They had finished their dinner and were just sprawled around the warm room. Tissaia and Vesemir were standing near a bookshelf, conversing with each other, while Lambert, Eskel and Coen were sitting around a table, playing a round of gwent. Jaskier was sitting on the bear rug in front of the fire with Ciri, braiding the young girl’s long hair as they spoke quietly to one another. Geralt was sitting in an armchair next to them, watching them both with fondness in his eyes.

Yennefer could see worry in Geralt’s amber eyes when his gaze focused solely on Jaskier, who did look a bit more tired, his blue eyes wearier than Yennefer had ever seen them…yet he kept up a smiling face, his voice light and cheerful as he spoke to Ciri. 

Yennefer frowned slightly as she leaned against the wall, sipping at her glass of wine. 

She may not have cared much for the loud, annoying bard before…but she _hated_ seeing him like this. There was an air of wariness around him, a haunted air surrounding him, burdening him, and it was changing the young bard. 

Usually she and Jaskier would be trading insults and barbs, like they did on the mountain and all of the times they met before, but Jaskier just didn’t seem to be interested, even if Yennefer tried to playfully insult him. He just smiled weakly at her, telling her that he got her joke, before he continued on. 

As annoying as the puppy was, he had wormed his way under her skin…and part of her missed the banter and barbs they had shared. 

Her attention was drawn away from Jaskier, hearing his laugh as he told Ciri a dramatic story, when Triss leaned against the wall beside her, also sipping at her own glass of wine.

Triss smirked at her. “Do you remember what I said about Vilgefortz at Sodden?”

Yennefer cocked an eyebrow, remembering that very awkward conversation, but hummed in agreement, unsure of where Triss was going with this.

“I take it back,” Triss said with a laugh, tilting her head in Tissaia’s and Vesemir’s direction. “I’m pretty certain that Vesemir is going to be our new daddy.” 

Yennefer smirked, sipping her wine, as she looked towards the table playing gwent when she heard a choking noise. Lambert was choking on his mouthful of ale, gold eyes wide and horrified as he stared at Triss, even as Coen slammed his hand against his back. Eskel had turned to stare at Triss also, a dumbfounded expression on his face. 

Geralt was just shaking his head, the tips of his ears gone red. Vesemir had turned his head slightly to look at Triss, frowning momentarily before he calmly went back to his conversation with Tissaia. 

“You do remember they have excellent hearing, right?” Yennefer murmured to her. “They all heard that…even Vesemir.”

“Oops,” Triss said with a grin, though she looked unrepentant as she sipped her wine, looking smug. Geralt gave them both a look as he approached, coming to the side table to refill his own mug of ale from one of the jugs sitting there. 

“Please don’t ever say that again,” he begged quietly as he refilled the mug, not quite meeting Triss’s gaze. 

“You see it too,” Triss murmured, whisper soft, just for Geralt to hear with a cheeky grin adorning her lips. “Tissaia doesn’t exactly warm up to people.”

Geralt glanced back at Vesemir and Tissaia before shaking his head, not wanting to entertain that idea at all. Vesemir was like his father and talking about his father’s relationships was slightly off-putting. Even in the Winters before, Geralt, Eskel and Lambert would wait for Vesemir to go to bed before talking about the relationships they had during the year, knowing that Vesemir hated hearing about it, especially since he saw them all as his sons. 

“What are you three whispering about?” Tissaia asked as she approached to refill her wine glass.

“Nothing,” Triss said quickly before moving over to the gwent table and drawing up a chair there, still gaining mortified looks from Lambert and Eskel while Coen just looked amused. Yennefer just smirked at Tissaia before she went to go join Ciri and Jaskier by the fire. 

Tissaia turned to face Jaskier as she sipped her wine, glancing at Geralt as he sipped his own ale. 

“How is he?” she asked quietly. “Has he spoken about what has happened to him?”

“No,” Geralt sighed quietly, unhappily. “There was a moment today when he got lost in his memories, it took a little bit to break him out of it.”

Tissaia frowned at that. “What set him off?”

“He saw the scars on his back.”

“Did he speak about what he remembered? Did he open up?” Tissaia questioned, her frown deepening as she swirled the wine in her glass around.

“No,” Geralt said shortly. “I tried, but he was too distressed to speak.”

Tissaia hummed at that before she looked to Geralt. “You need to get him to open up,” she told him firmly. “If he’s losing himself in memories, he’s going to spiral and he’s going to suffer a break down when it all gets too much.”

“I know,” Geralt growled before he sighed, knowing Tissaia was just trying to help in her own way. “I know, but I couldn’t push him earlier, he was far too distressed and he would have broken down then.”

Tissaia gave him a sympathetic smile before she headed back to talk to Vesemir and continue their discussion. 

Geralt sighed as he looked back to Jaskier, smoothing out the worry from his face before he walked back over to them, settling down in the armchair to listen to the stories that Jaskier and now Yennefer were telling Ciri. 

He knew he had to get Jaskier to open up, to give Jaskier an outlet so he stopped trying to repress everything. Jaskier was an emotional being and Geralt knew that if he kept repressing the hurt and the pain that it would fester, and that Jaskier would break…and he couldn’t lose Jaskier, not now, not after he just got him back.

He just didn’t know how to get Jaskier to open up. Geralt wasn’t an emotional person, not after years of pretending that he didn’t feel. He didn’t know what to say, how to get Jaskier to trust him enough to open up without breaking down.

He just didn’t know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nice long chapter for you all :)  
> Trying to get it moving a bit quicker so we can wrap this one up and get onto the sequel!
> 
> All gone a bit quiet on me the last couple of chapters, still enjoying the hurt/comfort?


	24. Before the Storm

Geralt frowned as he walked into the keep, brushing off the snow from his shoulders. The snow fall was beginning to get heavier and soon the training yard would be inaccessible. They’d have to move their training into the one indoors, which rarely got used. They all preferred to train outside as there was more space, but while Geralt, Lambert, Coen and Eskel could all deal with the snow, Ciri would not be able to.

Geralt’s frown deepened as he walked further into the keep, seeking out Jaskier. He hadn’t seen him since breakfast that morning, before Jaskier went out to do his chores for the day. Vesemir had kept Jaskier’s chore list light, especially since Jaskier was still regaining his strength, but still gave him one in order for Jaskier to feel useful.

Cleaning the stables had been the chore for the morning, one which Jaskier was pleased to do, wanting to see Roach and meet the others horses, and spend some time with Lil Bleater, who had her own secure little stall in the stables…though she was quite good at getting out of it when she wanted to.

Geralt peered into the small hall, sighing when he didn’t catch sight of Jaskier, before he continued on his search of Jaskier’s usual haunts around the keep when it was too cold for him to come outside to watch them train. 

Jaskier had been rather withdrawn the last two weeks since that moment in the hot springs. While before Jaskier had seemed to be recovering, now he seemed distant, lost in thought and even quieter than before. It made Geralt feel uneasy while Ciri and the others grew worried for Jaskier, all of them noticing the change. 

He sighed again when looked into the library and found no trace of Jaskier, the pile of books left on a small table beside a large, comfortable armchair left untouched. He and Jaskier had looked through the extensive library, which had mostly survived the purge, and Geralt had found him books on the other Witcher schools since Jaskier had been so interested in them. 

Geralt checked the other small lounge areas, the ones that were used and kept warm during the day by warm flames in the fireplace, but still detected no recent scent of Jaskier’s. He even checked the hot springs, though Jaskier didn’t come down there as often as Geralt had thought he would. He had expected to have drag Jaskier out of the warm water every day, but he hadn’t had to. Jaskier would come down some days after chores to warm up and would bathe efficiently, occasionally just relaxing in the warm water if Geralt was with him…but Geralt had quickly noticed that Jaskier kept his gaze down and away from the mirrors, making sure he didn’t even glance at them when he got dried and dressed. 

With another low, worried sigh, Geralt headed up to the last place on his search list. He passed Eskel, Lambert and Coen, who all just looked at him worriedly when they saw the look in his amber eyes, but silently let him pass, knowing that he needed to find the wayward bard. 

Geralt climbed the stairs to his room, pushing open the heavy door before stepping inside, his amber eyes immediately falling on a lump under the heavy furs on the bed. He breathed out in relief before he slowly made his way over, rounding the large bed before sitting on the edge, a frown pulling at the corner of his lips when he saw the emptiness in Jaskier’s blue eyes from where his head was poked out from under the bundle of furs.

“Jask?” he murmured, reaching out to brush the wispy fringe off of Jaskier’s face. Jaskier gave a shudder and Geralt’s frown deepened as he turned towards the cold fireplace carved into the wall. With a quick Igni, the logs within the fire place burst into flames, spreading a low warmth throughout the room. He turned back to Jaskier, seeing those blue eyes were blinking slowly, the gaze upon his face now.

“Geralt,” breathed Jaskier tiredly as he curled up under the furs.

“Are you okay?” Geralt asked him quietly, worriedly. “Are you ill?”

Jaskier smiled weakly and shook his head. “No,” he answered quietly. “Just…just wanted to go back to bed…didn’t feel like staying up.”

Geralt tried to hide the worry in his gaze at that, instead humming and giving an understanding nod. 

“Just don’t want to socialize, huh?” he asked, trying to keep his voice light. He was worried about Jaskier now. Jaskier was the very definition of social butterfly. He _thrived_ on talking and laughing and just being around others. Even at times when they were in inns and Geralt decided to retire for the night, he fully expected Jaskier to remain amongst the hustle and bustle of the inn. 

Most times he did, but others he followed Geralt up to the room, saying he didn’t feel like the company others and that Geralt’s company was more than enough.

While it warmed Geralt’s heart to hear that – though he would have strongly denied it at the time – he knew that as long as Jaskier wasn’t alone, as long as he had somebody there to talk to, he knew that Jaskier would be okay.

But to see this, to see Jaskier willingly be alone, to hide himself for others…Geralt knew something was wrong, that something was darkening Jaskier’s thoughts.

“Don’t know,” Jaskier murmured finally, sighing as he curled deeper into the furs which smelled like Geralt. “Just…it’s _safe_ here.”

Geralt winced at that, but nodded, reaching up to stroke Jaskier’s hair comfortingly. Jaskier just sighed, his shoulders relaxing at Geralt’s touch. Geralt felt the tension leaving his own shoulders as he kept up the repetitive motions, finding them soothing, especially when he watched Jaskier’s face ease and heard his heartbeat slow. 

It comforted him to be able to comfort Jaskier and he felt that tight coil of guilt, the one he’d had since he had rescued Jaskier, lighten somewhat and be replaced by a different sort of warmth. 

He truly did care for Jaskier, something he had just come to realise, hitting him like a slap to the face. He hated seeing Jaskier like this, wanting the light-hearted, positive, bright and bubbly bard back…the one who never shut up chattering about this and that, the one who hummed incessantly, who was constantly moving and fidgeting or composing on his lute. 

This quiet, still Jaskier made him feel so uneasy and it squeezed at his heart and chest, filling him with hurt and sadness to see Jaskier in such a way. 

He gave a low chuckle when Jaskier’s stomach suddenly grumbled and Jaskier flushed slightly, opening his eyes to meet his gaze.

“I’ll go grab something for you to eat,” Geralt told him, shifting his hand down to squeeze Jaskier’s shoulder softly. “I’ll be back soon.”

Jaskier gave a weak smile, eyes fluttering shut again. “Thank you.”

Geralt squeezed his shoulder once more before he got to his feet, leaving Jaskier quiet and curled under the furs, before he left the room, heading down the stairs and towards the kitchen. He stopped in the small hall, smelling that Vesemir and Triss had assembled lunch there. 

“Geralt,” Eskel greeted as he walked into the room. “Find your bard?”

Geralt sighed heavily as he reached forward, assembling some food for Jaskier. “I did,” he murmured. “He’s not having a good day.”

“Not having a good day?” Coen repeated, cocking his head slightly as he frowned.

“He’s gone back to bed, doesn’t really want to talk to anyone…which definitely isn’t Jaskier’s normal behaviour,” Geralt explained as he reached forward for a jug of juice, filling up a large mug. “Jaskier thrives being around others…and for him to just want to stay in bed, alone…well, it’s not him.”

“Ah,” Coen murmured, glancing at Lambert, who just grimaced, shaking his head. 

“Do you believe taking him food is helping him?” Tissaia questioned, even as Triss stacked more fruit onto the plate for Jaskier. It would be the last of the fresh fruit for a while with the snow and frost coming in. 

Geralt frowned as he looked to Tissaia. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s not making him come out here, to be among others,” Tissaia said carefully. Geralt just shook his head, frowning at Tissaia.

“I’m not going to force him to come down here,” Geralt grunted. “I get not wanting to be around people, sometimes it’s too much.”

“Not wrong,” Eskel muttered, getting an agreeing hum from Vesemir. Geralt picked up the loaded plate and the mug, balancing them carefully. 

“Geralt, once you’ve made sure Jaskier has eaten and has settled down, I want to talk to you,” Vesemir told him as Geralt headed towards the door. Geralt gave a small nod before he continued on, giving Ciri a small smile as he looked at her, seeing her sitting in front of the fire, warming herself up. 

He barely bit back a sigh when he walked back into his room and found Jaskier hadn’t moved an inch. He placed the plate and the mug on the rickety table next to the bed beside Jaskier and sat down on the edge of the bed, looking at the bard, who just blinked tiredly at him, eyes fluttering open. 

“C’mon, Lark,” Geralt told him with a smile. “Let’s get some food into you.”

Jaskier smiled weakly, but accepted Geralt’s hand, allowing the Witcher to help pull him up into a sitting position. Geralt grabbed the plate, sitting it on the bed between them so they both could pick at the food upon it. 

Geralt watched as Jaskier ate slowly, pulling apart the pieces of bread into small pieces before he ate it.

“How are you feeling?” Geralt asked lightly before he popped a piece bread into his own mouth.

“Just tired,” Jaskier murmured, keeping his eye on the plate. 

“Not sleeping or just the chores knocking it out of you?” Geralt pressed. Jaskier shook his head as he reached for the mug of juice. 

“Chores have been good,” Jaskier admitted as he sipped the tart juice slowly, giving a small sigh. “Good distraction.”

Geralt frowned at that. “Distraction from what?”

“Don’t want to talk about it,” Jaskier muttered, turning away. Geralt barely bit back the frustrated sigh.

Usually he couldn’t get Jaskier to shut up about his feelings, hearing the long laments about his broken heart – which lasted about ten minutes before he found someone new – or hearing the long, poetic waxing about the one he was in love with now, or the aches in his feet…Geralt heard it all.

But now he couldn’t get Jaskier to open up at all. 

They finished the rest of the food in silence before Geralt watched as Jaskier curled up under the furs once again.

“I need to go speak to Vesemir,” Geralt told him quietly once he had settled down again. “I’ll come back later.”

Jaskier nodded, giving a small hum in confirmation, his eyes already fluttering shut. Geralt patted Jaskier’s side, fixing the furs up so they were snug around Jaskier before he got to his feet and walked from the room, feeling lost and uncertain about how to get Jaskier to open up to him. 

He found Vesemir in the hot springs, having been directed there by his brothers. Vesemir just lifted his head when Geralt walked into the room. 

“Come join me,” Vesemir told him. Geralt quickly undressed and got into the water, sitting across from his mentor and father figure. Vesemir remained silent for a while, watching as Geralt slowly relaxed, the hot water draining the tension and stress from his body. 

“I see you have a new scar, Geralt,” Vesemir said as an opening. “Looks like a Ghoul bite.”

Geralt winced at that, giving a small nod. “It was just after Cintra fell and I thought Ciri was dead. I came across a merchant trying to bury bodies from a massacre of a refugee camp, looked like the Cintrans who had managed to get away.”

“But one managed to get you,” Vesemir ended, getting a nod from Geralt in response. 

“Merchant took me to his home, trying to help me, but the venom was already affecting me.”

Vesemir frowned, regarding Geralt with curious eyes. “How did you survive? Did you get to your potions in time?”

“Visenna,” Geralt answered simply, watching as the elder Witcher straightened up, surprised by that. “She appeared, helped to heal my wound, though the merchant didn’t see her of course.”

“Of course,” Vesemir murmured, waiting for Geralt to continue. 

“Once I was more lucid, the merchant continued on and took me to his farmstead…which was where I found Ciri.”

Vesemir nodded. “And where was the bard when all of this happened?”

Geralt winced but Vesemir didn’t let up. He knew something had happened between them, something to make Geralt so burdened with guilt when it came to the bard and his injuries. Vesemir was curious to know why the bard wasn’t with Geralt, allowing Nilfgaard to get a hold of him. Usually around this time of year, just before Winter, Geralt and Jaskier were together, only splitting up just before Winter – as Geralt had told them the previous years. 

“I-I hadn’t seen him for about six, seven months before he was captured by Nilfgaard,” Geralt explained, turning his eyes upwards to stare at the stone roof. “There was a dragon hunt – not that I was going to kill the dragon,” Geralt added on hastily, just gaining a hum from Vesemir. Geralt sighed and relayed the story to Vesemir, how Borch had approached him, how he wasn’t going to do it until he saw Yennefer, much to Jaskier’s disgust. He spoke of the dwarves and the Reavers and how Borch faked his own death and turned out to be a golden dragon who just wanted to protect the egg that the green dragon had died protecting. He spoke of how Borch had told Yennefer the truth about the wish Geralt had made of the djinn, how it had tied their fates together.

“Yennefer stormed off and I was so angry, everything had just seemed to fall into place and then it was falling apart,” Geralt told Vesemir, voice quiet, but just loud enough for the old Witcher to hear him. “Jaskier came up, trying to lighten the situation as he always did…and-and I lost it. I told him it that whenever I found myself in a pile of shit, it was always him shovelling it…I told him if life could give me one blessing, it would take him off my hands.”

“Geralt,” Vesemir sighed, sounding disappointed. 

“I know, Vesemir, I know,” Geralt muttered, fists clenching against his thighs. “He didn’t deserve it and I should have gone after him, but then I caught wind of Nilfgaard getting closer to Cintra and went to go investigate myself…and that’s when I knew I had to go for Ciri and my priorities changed. I hoped I would find him along my travels, but he always remained out of reach.”

Vesemir leaned forward, golden eyes fixed upon Geralt’s face, watching as Geralt’s jaw clenched and tensed.

“Tell me something, Geralt, and tell me the truth,” Vesemir said firmly.

“Always, Vesemir.”

“Do you care for Jaskier?” Vesemir questioned, watching as Geralt’s brow furrowed in confusion. “I mean more than a friend, more than a brother; do you care for him differently compared to the way you care for Eskel and Lambert for example?”

Geralt went silent, but Vesemir just leaned back, allowing the young Witcher to get his thoughts in order. He knew that he had just dropped one hell of bombshell question upon Geralt, especially as Witchers were taught to be solitary, learning from a young age that they would never have a relationship like those they would see on the Path. They would never have a wife, a husband, have children…and at times it would be hard for them to find a willing bedfellow that wasn’t paid for at a brothel. 

Geralt looked up at Vesemir, a frown gracing his lips. “I-I don’t know,” he admitted finally, uncertainly. “I care for him and I don’t want to lose him.”

Vesemir just nodded, leaning back once more. He was content with that answer, knowing what Geralt was trying to say but couldn’t quite say. 

“Has Jaskier opened up yet about what happened with Nilfgaard?” Vesemir asked a few minutes later. Geralt sighed and shook his head.

“No, and I’m getting worried, Vesemir,” Geralt admitted quietly, leaning forward in the hot water. “It feels like he’s drifting further away and that I won’t be able to get him back…and I can’t lose him, Vesemir, I _can’t_.”

“You won’t, lad, you won’t,” Vesemir reassured him. “Sometimes recovery goes like this and all it takes is one thing and it all comes tumbling out. Jaskier will be able to recover after that.”

“I want to avoid him having a breakdown,” Geralt stated, frowning. Vesemir shook his head, sighing.

“Sometimes that just isn’t possible, Geralt,” the elder Witcher told him regretfully. “But all you can do is make sure you’re there for him when that day comes, lad. That’s all you can do.”

Jaskier blinked awake when he felt something crawl into bed beside him. He turned over and smiled softly when he saw Ciri’s bright green eyes staring back at him.

“What are you going here, my Cub?” he asked sleepily as she shuffled closer to grab his hands. “Don’t you have lessons?”

“Done for the day,” Ciri said innocently, gaining a smirk and a questioning eyebrow cock from Jaskier before she relented. “All right, I begged Triss and she agreed.”

Jaskier hummed, smiling softly at the young princess. Ciri hesitated before she looked to Jaskier, green eyes worried.

“Are you okay, Jaskier?” she asked quietly, worriedly. 

Jaskier smiled emotionlessly. “I’m just tired, little one, that’s all.”

“Geralt’s really worried about you,” Ciri told him, her fingers tracing Jaskier’s hands, over the lute worn calluses. 

“Oh?”

“He watches you a lot…and his eyes are sad,” Ciri continued, watching as Jaskier flinched slightly. “I think he feels guilty.”

“We…well, we had a falling out, I guess, some months ago,” Jaskier told her softly. “He said some things to me in anger and it broke my heart, so we separated.”

“And that’s why you were alone when Nilfgaard got you,” whispered Ciri. Jaskier gave a small nod, swallowing deeply as he shuddered slightly, pushing back those memories once again, and giving Ciri a weak smile. 

“A-Are you two okay now?” she asked, biting at bottom lip until Jaskier reached up to nudge her chin, making her stop. 

“Yes,” Jaskier reassured her with a small, fond smile. “He’s trying to prove that he won’t treat me like he did before…and I can see he’s changed, especially since he found you.”

Ciri smiled at that before it faltered before asking quietly, “Do…do you think people can change?”

Jaskier frowned at the change in her demeanour, reaching up to stroke her hair. “Of course, my Cub. Why do you ask?”

“A-After Cintra fell and I ran…I met a boy,” Ciri started quietly, reaching up to grasp Jaskier’s free hand again, just needing his reassurance. “He saved me from eating poisonous berries and then saved me again when Nilfgaard attacked the refugee camp I was in.”

Jaskier remained silent, gently stroking Ciri’s cheek to calm and reassure her, but letting her tell this story at her own pace.

“Dara…Dara was an elf,” Ciri murmured, “a-and he told me what Grandmother had done to the elves, what she had ordered her soldiers to do. I didn’t want to believe it…but then I thought about what she taught me and what Cintra was like, even before it fell…and I don’t _want_ to be like her, Jaskier!” 

“Oh, dear heart,” Jaskier crooned, pulling the sobbing girl against his chest. “It’s not easy to learn about something like that…and despite the wrong your grandmother may have done when it came to non-humans, she still loved you more than anything.”

“I-I love her too…but, I don’t want to be like her, I don’t want to hurt others because they’re different,” Ciri whispered against Jaskier’s chest. “Dara said I was just like her and-and I don’t want to be! I don’t want to be Princess Cirilla, the granddaughter of the Lioness, the Lion Cub. I just want to be Ciri, one who helps others…maybe as a Witcher.”

“You will make a wonderful Witcher, my little Wolf,” Jaskier said. If Ciri didn’t want to be the Lion Cub anymore, if she wanted to be a Witcher, then Jaskier wouldn’t call her by a nickname that reminded her of the hurt. Ciri laughed weakly against his chest at that, clutching on tighter to him. 

Jaskier tucked her head under his chin before he stroked her long ashen hair. “You know, I had the same realisation when I first met Geralt,” he told her. “We were captured by Filavandrel’s elves and I learnt things, painful things. I learned of Filavandrel’s pain, of how the humans took the elves land and killed them for it…and called it the ‘Great Cleansing’ as though the humans were doing the world a favour by killing the elves. I listened to the pain in Filavandrel’s voice as he spoke of the ones he lost, how the humans grew crops in the fields where the elves were buried in a mass grave and how the elves were forced to live in the mountains and starve…and yet, Filavandrel spared our lives and even gave me his lute to replace my one that the elves broke.”

Ciri frowned, recalling a memory. “There was a boy at the refugee camp, he wore elf ears that he had cut off elves to get revenge for his brother’s death in Filavandrel’s uprising.”

“Ah, yeah,” Jaskier murmured. “He was tired of his people dying, of being killed and starved.”

“I don’t blame him,” Ciri murmured in return. “Filavandrel, I mean. He fought back because his people were dying. He didn’t kill others just because they were different.”

Jaskier just hugged Ciri tighter, stroking her hair with his free hand. Ciri pulled back slightly so she could meet Jaskier’s eyes.

“A-Are you scared of the man in the winged helmet too?” she asked in a quiet voice. Jaskier barely kept from flinching at that, pausing in the stroking of her hair.

“Cahir?” he asked, his voice scarily even. “I…it’s complicated,” he continued, swallowing deeply as he frowned in thought. “He hurt me and was going to take away my freedom for good, so, yes, I guess I am a little scared of him. Are you, little one?”

Ciri nodded, shivering in his hold. “I am. I saw him kill people and I know what he did to try and get me…but I’m not gonna let him scare me anymore. We’ll beat him, Jaskier, won’t we?”

“Of course, my fierce little Wolf,” Jaskier smiled, though he didn’t quite feel it. Ciri smiled back and cuddled back against his chest, snuggling in close. Jaskier swallowed deeply as he closed his eyes again.

He didn’t know how he could beat Cahir, not when the memories and the pain of what Cahir did to him refused to leave him.

It was a week later when things came to a head.

They were all sitting in the small hall, having drinks and laughing as stories were told. Jaskier was leaning against Geralt’s side, sipping at his ale, as he listened to Lambert tell a very dramatic retelling of one of his battles against a monster. 

Coen just rolled his eyes, exchanging a look with Vesemir, who just shook his head fondly. 

“You are so full of shit,” Eskel told Lambert, shoving him hard against the shoulder, making Lambert fall to his side, ale sloshing out of his mug.

“Hey, watch it!” Lambert growled at him as he straightened up, shaking the droplets of ale off of his hand. “This is good ale!”

“Not wrong,” Yennefer agreed as she sipped her own ale. “Should taste that Nilfgaardian shit, tastes like piss.” 

Lambert screwed up his nose at that. “Really?” 

“Mmhmm,” Yennefer said, looking disgusted. “Piss…actual piss.”

“What about you, Jaskier?” Eskel asked, looking to him. “Agree with Nilfgaardian ale statement?”

“Couldn’t tell you,” Jaskier shrugged simply, feeling Geralt’s arm tighten slightly around his shoulders. “I wasn’t behaved enough to be given ale, I suppose.”

“Ah, right,” Eskel muttered, looking to Jaskier apologetically. Jaskier just sipped his ale, going quiet as he watched the others. Tissaia was sitting beside Yennefer as they contributed to the stories told, while Vesemir sat at the other end of the table, watching over them all. Triss was sitting in front of the fire with Ciri, brushing through Ciri’s long ashen hair.

Jaskier stiffened slightly as the conversation turned to Nilfgaard and he pushed himself more firmly against Geralt’s side, feeling safer against him. Geralt shifted his arm to better wrap around Jaskier’s side, looking at him in concern. Jaskier just smiled at him, though it was a bit shaky, before he turned his attention back to the conversation. 

“Pfft, as if Nilfgaard could beat us,” Lambert was snorting, shaking his head as he looked to Tissaia in disbelief. “They’re just human after all.”

“With mages,” Tissaia pointed out.

“We are trained to deal with magic,” Eskel countered carefully. “It only affects us if we’re vulnerable.”

“Like being tired?" Yennefer drawled, looking to Geralt pointedly. Geralt scowled at her, a low growl bubbling up from his throat.

“Geralt, we do not growl like dogs at the table,” Vesemir chided, giving him a pointed look. The growl cut out but the scowl remained before he turned to Jaskier, burying his face into Jaskier’s hair and breathing in his familiar scent. Jaskier just patted his leg comfortingly, knowing why he was annoyed. 

“Nilfgaard would struggle to bring us down,” Coen said reasonably as he clasped his hands on the table. “They’d have to know our weak points, they’d have to know what could weaken us.”

Jaskier felt his breath catch at that, his heart beginning to race in his chest as he found himself back in a stone room, shackled to a chair and interrogated about Witchers weaknesses.

“Jaskier?” Geralt’s worried voice suddenly brought him back from that room. Geralt had turned around, hands cupping Jaskier’s face. “Jaskier, what is it?”

Shaky gasps tore themselves from Jaskier’s throat as he struggled to breathe, guilt twisting his stomach.

“N-Nilfgaard,” he gasped out. “T-They know that poisons can affect you.”

“And how would they know that?” Lambert’s voice demanded. 

Jaskier looked at Geralt before closing his eyes in shame, unable to meet Geralt’s worried eyes, knowing he betrayed him and his brothers.

“Because I told them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnd here comes the break down
> 
> Hoping to get the last couple of chapters out quickly since I'm going away soon and won't be able to update since no internet connection...but then it's sequel time!!
> 
> Even if it may contain spoilers, such as Emperor Emhyr's true identity, would you still read the sequel?


	25. Break

Silence fell in the keep, so quiet one could hear the fire crackling in the fire place.

“Jaskier…what?” Geralt breathed. Jaskier just kept his eyes clenched closed, trembling. He could hear low growling from the other side of the table where Eskel and Lambert were sitting. 

“You heard him!” Lambert snarled. 

“Enough, Lambert!” Geralt snapped back, still keeping Jaskier’s face cupped in his hands. “I know him! There has to be an explanation!” 

Jaskier trembled, breath catching in his throat as his heart pounded in his chest. He felt horrible and so guilty. All the Witchers had done was take him in and protect him and yet he gave away one of their weaknesses.

“Jaskier,” this time it was Vesemir’s firm voice. “What do you mean? What happened? What did you tell them?”

“T-They know that some poisons can affect you,” Jaskier stammered, still keeping his eyes clenched close, unable to look at any of them, the guilt too much. “T-They had me shackled to a chair a-and they just kept asking…a-and I tried, I tried not to tell them but I couldn’t stop…i-it just _hurt_ so much!”

Thumbs rubbed at his cheeks as Jaskier sobbed, the guilt overwhelming him.

He had been weak, giving that information up to Cahir.

“What do you mean it hurt?” Tissaia’s voice cut through the low snarling. “How?”

“I-It burnt, felt like I couldn’t breathe, like I was going to explode unless I spoke,” Jaskier hiccupped. “I-I tried to bite my tongue, but I-I couldn’t stop myself…it hurt so much!”

“What is it, Tissaia?” Vesemir’s voice questioned in concern.

“It wasn’t his fault,” Tissaia answered as Geralt hushed Jaskier, trying to calm his sobbing. “The pain he’s talking about, that he couldn’t stop himself speaking…it sounds like he was given a truth potion. It causes the victim great pain if they try to lie or even not answer. There was no way he could fight it, the pain would have been severe.”

The snarls died down at that. 

“He couldn’t fight it,” Coen murmured sadly. Jaskier just sobbed again, feeling Geralt nuzzle against his head. Despite the truth about the truth serum coming out, despite the anger seeming to fade in the room, Jaskier couldn’t get his heart rate to slow down, couldn’t stop the trembling, the guilt and heartbreak, or the sobs wrenching out of his throat.

“Did…did they make you tell them what poison’s affected us?” Eskel’s voice asked calmly. Jaskier shook his head.

“I-I wouldn’t tell them, it hurt, b-but I couldn’t,” he sobbed. Geralt’s thumbs rubbed against his cheek, trying to soothe and comfort the distressed bard. The action only served to make things worse though as the emotions and memories that Jaskier had been trying so hard to push aside and repress erupted to the surface, overwhelming him with guilt and pain and hopelessness. 

Jaskier wrenched back from Geralt, flailing as he fell backwards off of the bench he was sitting on, before he scrambled backwards across the stone floor until his back hit the wall. He immediately curled up into a ball, pulling his knees up to his chest as loud sobs were wrenched from his chest. 

“Shit, Jaskier,” Geralt breathed before he slowly walked over, trying not to spook him.

“What the fuck is happening?” Lambert asked, as he looked to Vesemir frowning. Vesemir looked at the sobbing bard sadly, watching as Geralt carefully knelt in front of him, giving the bard space but at the same time providing comfort and reassurance. 

“He’s been pushing aside the emotions and the memories instead of dealing with it,” Vesemir murmured, just for the Witchers to hear. “The story about the poison was what broke him and now he has to face the pain and the memories he’s been trying so desperately to forget.”

“Fuck,” Lambert swore under his breath, looking back to Jaskier and Geralt. 

“Ciri, honey, come with me,” Triss murmured to Ciri. “I don’t think Jaskier will appreciate us watching him.”

Ciri nodded, looking at Jaskier sadly as he sobbed great, breathy sobs that sounded like they were being wrenched from him. She let Triss take her hand, leading her from the room, knowing that Geralt would look after Jaskier. 

Jaskier looked up, seeing Geralt was kneeling in front of him, far enough to give him space to breathe and not feel trapped, yet close enough to be reassuring and to feel like he was a protective wall against the rest of the room.

“Jask,” Geralt murmured, eyes worried. “What is it?” 

Jaskier couldn’t even being to explain it, couldn’t even understand why he was sobbing. Everything suddenly felt like it was too much, like all of his nerves were firing and felt restless. He felt jittery yet didn’t want to move. 

“I-I don’t know,” he croaked. “I just…Gods, I don’t _know_!”

Geralt carefully reached out, placing a hand on Jaskier’s knee. Jaskier looked up, choking on a sob, as he looked into Geralt’s worried face, meeting his concerned amber eyes, the ones which showed Geralt’s emotions, from the mischievous spark when he was feeling playful or in a joking mood, to the hard glint he got within them when they had to put up with assholes or the flash within them when Jaskier had needlessly put himself in danger…but they were the eyes that Jaskier sought when he was playing in a packed tavern or in a court. Those eyes watching him meant he was safe, that he wasn’t alone.

Suddenly, like a dam, everything burst. The memories of what happened in the Nilfgaard camp, the pain and the hurt and the uselessness…the thought that he was going to be caged, that he would never see Geralt again…all of it came back in a rush.

The sobs were renewed with fresh pain, tears streaming down his face.

“I fucking gave up!” Jaskier wailed. “W-With everything…with fucking Cahir punishing me and w-whipping my back and feet because I ‘ _misbehaved_ ’…a-and I tried, I _tried_ so fucking hard to escape but I couldn’t!”

Geralt just shifted slightly closer, blocking out the rest of the room behind and making Jaskier feel a bit more secure. It was just him and Geralt…nobody else. 

“I-I didn’t think you were going to come for me,” Jaskier cried, choking on a sob. Geralt just squeezed his knee softly, pain flashing across his face at that reminder. “T-Then when I tried to escape, t-they told me what the plans for me were. I-I was going to be sent to Nilfgaard, to the Emperor, to be a prisoner, a bargaining chip, a fucking Pet, I don’t know what…all I knew was that I was going to be caged and I can’t be caged, Geralt! I-I can’t!”

“I know, Jaskier, I know,” Geralt rumbled soothingly. 

“I-I tried to escape again but Fringilla made sure I didn’t and Cahir whipped my fucking feet and made me walk on them and it hurt, it hurt so badly...but he was pissed that I tried to run again – like he wouldn’t try to escape if he was a prisoner, the fucking hypocrite,” Jaskier hiccupped hoarsely, voice all raw from his sobbing and wailing. “He told me that no matter what I was going to Nilfgaard a-and I gave up. I-I couldn’t run anymore, not with my feet like they were, a-and I didn’t think you would come for me…so…so I just gave up!”

Geralt shifted when Jaskier gave a loud, rough sob, bordering on a wail. Geralt shifted again, as though he just wanted to gather Jaskier up close and never let him go. 

“I gave up, I barely moved…wasn’t worth the energy or the effort when I was just going to get hurt again, when I was just going to be imprisoned in some type of cage, so I just fucking gave up,” Jaskier croaked, lifting his tear stained eyes to meet Geralt’s. “Then you showed up.”

“I’m sorry I took so long,” Geralt murmured. Jaskier gave a watery laugh, scrubbing at his sore, tearstained eyes with the back of his hand. Jaskier shuddered again, a fresh round of tears springing to his eyes.

“I-I just fucking gave up, Geralt,” Jaskier whispered again. “I stopped fighting, stopped trying to escape, I just fucking gave up!”

“Jask…”

Jaskier shook his head, angry tears now pouring down his cheeks. “A-And now every time I see those fucking scars, that’s all I’m reminded of! I’m reminded that I fucking failed…I couldn’t run away, I kept getting caught and…and then I just gave up…and those scars, they’re my permanent reminder! I-I can’t escape Cahir, I-I can’t escape Nilfgaard!”

Jaskier dissolved into sobs, his whole body shuddering at the force of the sobs. Geralt couldn’t hold back any longer, shifting forward so he could pull Jaskier close, cradling him in his lap, despite Jaskier being practically the same height as him. Jaskier reached out, fingers scrabbling to clutch onto his shoulders, clinging on tightly as he buried his face into Geralt’s neck and sobbed.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier sobbed. “I’m sorry I gave up, t-that I was weak.”

“No, no, my Lark,” Geralt murmured, nuzzling into Jaskier’s hair. “You weren’t weak at all. You were so strong, Jaskier, so strong. You _survived_ , that’s all that matters. It does not make you weak that you felt useless, that you felt like giving up…it was a horrible situation, Jaskier, one that you didn’t feel like you were going to get free from. You weren’t weak, Jaskier, you have _nothing_ to be sorry for.”

Jaskier cried against Geralt’s neck at that, clinging on tighter to him, as though he never wanted to let go…and Geralt felt just the same, never wanting to let Jaskier go again, to never let anyone hurt him ever again. 

Geralt glanced to the side, seeing Vesemir standing there still, looking over them both worriedly. He did give a small smile and a reassuring nod to Geralt when he noticed Geralt looking at him. 

Eskel, Lambert and Coen were all sitting down beside him, murmuring to each other quietly. Geralt hid a smile in Jaskier’s hair when he picked up snippets of their murmuring, picking up plans on how to watch Nilfgaard, how to best protect Jaskier and Ciri. 

“Tissaia,” Geralt heard Yennefer hiss. Soft footsteps approached and Geralt glanced up, just in time to see Tissaia crouch beside them.

“Jaskier,” she said softly, watching as Jaskier lifted his tearstained face out of Geralt’s neck. “The scars…is that what’s preventing you from healing? Because of the memories?” 

Jaskier glanced at Geralt before giving a small nod. “Every…” he started to say, voice rough from crying, before he cleared his throat. “Every time I see them, a-all I remember is being in that Nilfgaard camp…all I remember is the pain and the hopelessness a-and I don’t feel like I’m safe.”

Tissaia nodded, a considering look passing her face. “If the scars were gone, do you think that would help you recover? To help you feel safe again?”

Jaskier nodded intently. “Yes! I just want them gone!”

“I can help with that,” Tissaia told him. “Consider it my apology for all that my past students have done to you. However, I may not be able to completely get rid of all of the scars. The larger, deeper ones may still remain, but they will be faint, as though they are years old.”

“A-Anything is better than this,” Jaskier croaked. “Please, Tissaia.”

Tissaia gently touched Jaskier’s shoulder and nodded. “Of course, Jaskier.”

“When will you be able to do this?” Geralt asked as Jaskier settled his head back against his shoulder, completely exhausted now. 

“It will take a day or so to prepare,” Tissaia informed them before she pushed herself to standing, brushing down her skirts. “I will start at once.”

“Thank you,” Geralt murmured as he stroked Jaskier’s side comfortingly. Jaskier scrubbed at his sore, tired eyes as he sniffled, smiling weakly at Tissaia.

“Thank you,” Jaskier echoed. Tissaia just gave a small smile and a nod.

“Yennefer,” she called, the purple eyed sorceress pushed off the wall she had been watching from and joined her side. “I could use your assistance to get ready.”

Yennefer nodded, casting a look to Geralt and Jaskier. Geralt gave a small nod in return, catching the concern in her purple eyes, before Yennefer swept from the room, following Tissaia. 

Geralt remained sitting on the floor, cradling Jaskier in his lap. Jaskier buried his face back into Geralt’s neck, feeling exhausted from that emotional upheaval…but at the same time, feeling a bit more unburdened. 

“Here, lad,” Vesemir’s voice murmured from beside Geralt, coaxing Jaskier’s face out of his neck. The elder Witcher was crouched beside them, holding a mug out, a concerned frown pulling at his lips and wrinkled face pinched in sympathy. “Drink up, Jaskier. We don’t want you dehydrating on us.”

Jaskier smiled weakly as he accepted the mug, sipping on the water slowly as an embarrassed flush slowly crept its way up his neck and into his face.

“Sorry for breaking down like that,” he mumbled. 

“Nothing to be sorry for, lad,” Vesemir reassured him, exchanging a look with Geralt, who looked saddened at Jaskier’s embarrassed apology.

“But…”

“Nothing, Jaskier,” Eskel piped up, making Jaskier lean forward to peer around Geralt in order to see them. Lambert and Coen were nodding in agreement. 

“They sound like right pricks,” Lambert added on with a scowl. “They aren’t gonna touch you again, Jaskier, we promise.”

Jaskier smiled weakly before he leaned back against Geralt, comforted by his warm, familiar bulk, and finished his water under Vesemir’s watchful gaze. 

Once he had finished drinking, and Vesemir had pressed another mug of water into his hands, he leaned against Geralt’s broad chest, eyes drifting closed as the exhaustion of his breakdown really caught up with him, sapping him of the rest of his energy. 

Shifting carefully, Geralt tucked one arm under Jaskier’s knees and the other around Jaskier’s back, under his armpits. He carefully took Jaskier’s weight as he moved, getting his feet underneath him so he could stand up, Jaskier held close and secure in his arms. 

“Can walk,” Jaskier mumbled sleepily, even as he wrapped his arms around Geralt’s neck, nuzzling into the soft cotton shirt Geralt was wearing.

“I know,” Geralt murmured back as he adjusted his hold on Jaskier. “Just let me have this.” 

“Sleep well, boys,” Vesemir called after them. “You still both have chores in the morning.”

“Night, Vesemir,” Jaskier called back with a yawn. “Lambert, Eskel, Coen…night.”

“Night, Jaskier,” Eskel and Coen returned.

“Night,” Lambert grunted. “Geralt, take care of him or I’ll kick your ass tomorrow.”

Geralt looked at Lambert with an arched eyebrow, smirking at him. Lambert just scowled back. Lambert always acted like he was a prickly, mean, hard ass…but he was secretly soft inside, as much as he denied it. Geralt and Eskel always did their best to bring that side of him out, as much as they loved the prickly asshole, but it was rare for Lambert to show it.

“Of course,” Geralt said, “but you wouldn’t be able to kick my ass anyway, little Lamb.”

“Off to bed with you,” Vesemir said quickly, intervening as Lambert opened his mouth to retort. 

Geralt nodded, looking back to the yawning bard in his arms fondly. He left the room, carrying Jaskier up the stairs and towards his bedroom. He pushed the door open with his foot, depositing Jaskier onto the bed before he turned to light the fire before the cold got to the bard. 

Jaskier smiled up at him, eyes hazy with sleep, as Geralt walked back over to his side.

“C’mon, my Lark,” Geralt rumbled with a fond smile. “Let’s get you ready for bed.”

Jaskier nodded, letting Geralt help him get out of his clothes and into his bed clothes. Geralt was just tugging the sleepy Jaskier’s arms into the sleeping top when Jaskier rolled his head up to look at him.

“You’re too good to me,” Jaskier mumbled, shocking Geralt. 

“W-What?”

“You’re too good to me,” Jaskier repeated, voice quiet and laden with sleep. “You always look out for me…a-and I know that things didn’t end up well for us last time, on the mountain…but you rescued me a-and you’ve been trying so hard to help me, to make sure I feel safe and comfortable, even though I didn’t want to talk or tried to hide, you were always there to make sure I wasn’t alone,” he rambled, the words just coming out. 

“You shouldn’t have been alone in the first place,” Geralt muttered as he managed to get Jaskier’s arms into the shirt. “It was my fault.”

Jaskier shook his head. “I forgive you for the mountain, it wasn’t your fault. We separated all the time to do our own thing. They woulda gotten me then if the dragon hunt hadn’t happened.”

Geralt sighed as he sat on the bed beside Jaskier, who yawned and immediately leaned against him. Jaskier tilted his head up to meet Geralt’s gaze.

“But I mean it, Geralt,” Jaskier murmured, reaching out to grab Geralt’s calloused hand. “You’ve been here for me since I met you – no matter how annoying I was – and you always made sure I was safe. You came to a Nilfgaardian camp to get me a-and you made sure I was looked after. I mean, you brought me to your home, Geralt, with your brothers and your father.”

Geralt pressed his lips against Jaskier’s forehead. “Because you’re family too, Jask,” he murmured. “I just didn’t realise it until it was almost too late…and I never want to lose you.”

Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt, body trembling again. Geralt detected the smell of salt in the air and pulled back slightly, looking down at Jaskier in concern.

“Jask?” he questioned, tilting his head up to see tears streaming down Jaskier’s cheeks again.

“Sorry, sorry,” sobbed Jaskier as he scrubbed the tears from his face. “Guess I’m more tired than I thought.”

Geralt shifted Jaskier back further onto the bed, laying him down before he stripped down to small clothes himself and slipped into the large bed beside Jaskier, pulling the heavy blankets over them. Jaskier immediately shifted over and curled close against Geralt’s side, sighing out contently, even though he occasionally sniffled as the tears began to dry up. 

“I meant it, Jaskier,” Geralt said quietly as he nuzzled into Jaskier’s hair, discreetly inhaling Jaskier’s familiar scent. “I don’t want to lose you. I care for you far too much.”

Jaskier carefully took hold of Geralt’s hand, interlacing their fingers. 

“I care for you too,” Jaskier breathed, biting his lip. “It’s why…it’s why I would never tell Nilfgaard where to find you or how to hurt you. It’s why I tried to run so if you did come for me, you wouldn’t get hurt.”

Geralt turned onto his side so he could face Jaskier, smiling when he saw those tired blue eyes drifting shut.

“Go to sleep, Jaskier,” Geralt murmured. “Everything is going to get better now. Tissaia will help you and I’ll be here whenever you need me…and not to mention you now have Eskel, Lambert and Coen watching over you now too.”

Jaskier smiled faintly at that, his eyes drifting shut with a soft sigh. 

“Don’t wanna,” he protested weakly, making Geralt chuckle softly. “Wanna stay awake and talk to you. D-Don’t feel scared when I’m with you.”

Geralt stroked Jaskier’s hair, tucking that wayward fringe to the side so he could see Jaskier’s face properly.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, “but you need to sleep. You’ve had an exhausting day with everything coming out like that and you need to rest…especially since Vesemir has already planned our chores for tomorrow,” he added to lighten things up.

“Hmph, fine,” Jaskier yawned with a small chuckle. “Night, Geralt.”

“Goodnight, my Lark.”

Geralt watched as Jaskier finally slipped into sleep, so deeply exhausted from his emotional breakdown. His eyes took in every feature of Jaskier’s face as it softened in sleep. The long eyelashes that rested softly upon Jaskier’s fair skin, the faint, few freckles spread out over Jaskier’s nose from years of walking under the sun. Jaskier’s pink lips were parted slightly as he dreamt; soft, slow breaths puffing against Geralt’s chest. 

With a smile and a soft sigh, Geralt closed his own eyes, listening to the familiar, soothing sound of Jaskier’s heartbeat. 

With Jaskier breaking down and finally opening up about what had been darkening his mind and had been making him withdraw, hopefully now he would be more open to talking, to not be afraid to tell Geralt if something was bothering him.

Hopefully now, with Tissaia’s help, Jaskier would begin to heal and would begin to become like his old self once again. 

Jaskier was in the stables, chatting to Roach as he cleaned out her pen. He felt lighter than he had felt in weeks, he felt unburdened. There were times or instances when he was reminded of what happened with Cahir, of the hopelessness he felt…but he knew now that Geralt wouldn’t leave him even though he was still a bit broken. 

“You’re looking as gorgeous as ever, my dear Roach,” Jaskier told her as he brought over some fresh water for her. “You showing these three that you’re still the boss?”

Roach nickered at that, head butting Jaskier’s chest fondly. Jaskier chuckled as he had barely kept the bucket of water from spilling. 

“All right, all right,” he murmured as he placed it down, coming over to stroke her long nose. He chuckled again as her velvety nose nuzzled as his cheek, nibbling at his cloak. 

There was a loud bleat and Jaskier laughed, patting Roach’s nose, before he moved out her pen and closed it. He glanced down at Scorpion and at Coen’s and Lambert’s horses – whose pens he’d already cleaned – before he headed to Lil Bleater’s secure pen. 

The small goat was bouncing around, using the walls to leap off as she bleated happily. Jaskier grabbed her fresh water bucket and unlocked the pen door, quickly stepping inside and shutting it behind him so she didn’t try to run off. 

“Easy,” Jaskier crooned as he poured the water into the trough. Lil Bleater ran around him, bouncing around and trying to nibble at his clothing. Jaskier just shook his head fondly as he crouched down, the small goat immediately trying to jump into his arms. He stroked her soft back, laughing, “You really are a menace.” 

“Jaskier!”

“In here!” Jaskier called back as he straightened up, brushing down the old pair of pants he wore for his chores and turned towards the pen door, seeing Geralt leaning against it, arms folded upon the door as he looked into the pen, watching as Lil Bleater pranced around Jaskier.

“How are you?” Geralt asked as Jaskier made his way to lean against the half wall of the pen, both of them watching Lil Bleater running around and bouncing off of the full side walls. 

“Good,” Jaskier answered with a smile. “I’ve cleaned out the horses’ pens and have given them all fresh water – and gave Roach the love and praise she deserves,” he added just to hear Geralt’s low chuckle and agreeing nod. “I was just about to clean Bleater’s pen out before I fed them all.”

“Lambert and Eskel can do that,” Geralt told him, watching as Jaskier cocked his head and looked him questioningly. “Tissaia is ready, Jaskier.”

Jaskier took in a sharp breath before he nodded, patting Lil Bleater’s head before he left the pen, making sure to lock it behind him securely. Geralt watched as Jaskier nervously brushed down his work clothes – which consisted of an old pair of pants and one of Geralt’s old, winter shirts…which made Geralt feel slightly weird and somewhat possessive, seeing Jaskier wear his clothes. 

With another shaky breath, Jaskier looked to Geralt. “Let’s go.”

Geralt offered his hand, which Jaskier eagerly took, interlacing their fingers once again. The Witcher looked at Jaskier as they walked across the snowy yard together, smiling slightly.

Jaskier had relaxed slightly in the two days since his break down, where everything just came pouring out, and it made Geralt’s heart warm to see glimpses of his old friend coming back out, seeing the cheerful bard. Jaskier had even brought out his lute once again…and Geralt wasn’t ashamed to admit that he had been shocked into speechlessness when he had walked into the library after training outside with Eskel, Coen and Lambert to see Jaskier sitting in his usual arm chair, strumming a tune and humming along with it.   
Vesemir, who had been teaching Ciri the beastiary, just looked up from the book and gave Geralt a knowing smile before looking back to Ciri, correcting her as she misread a passage from the very large tome. 

Jaskier looked back to him, pulling him from his thoughts as they walked into the keep. Geralt smiled reassuringly at him, hearing Jaskier’s heart fluttering nervously, as they walked into the small hall, where Tissaia was waiting. 

Tissaia paused her conversation with Triss and Vesemir as Geralt and Jaskier walked in. All three sets of eyes darted down to Jaskier’s and Geralt’s intertwined hands though no one said anything – though Triss gave Geralt a wink as they approached. 

“Where’s Yen?” Jaskier asked, surprised. Usually she was everywhere the action and drama was.

“She’s teaching Ciri, keeping her occupied,” Triss answered with a smile. Jaskier nodded and looked to Tissaia nervously.

“Are you ready?” she asked him. Jaskier breathed in shakily as he nodded. 

“Yeah, let’s just get this over with,” he muttered. 

“Is there anywhere where you’d prefer to do this?” she asked him. “It can be done anywhere you can lay down.”

“Geralt’s room,” Jaskier said quickly, looking to Geralt. “I…I feel the safest there.”

Tissaia nodded in understanding before she straightened up, looking every bit like the stern, regal mage that she was. 

“Let’s start this then,” she said before looking to Geralt. “This will be have to be done alone. No interruptions whatsoever.”

Geralt nodded, looking to Jaskier who just gave a weak smile.

“You’ll be fine,” Geralt assured him. “I’ll be there the moment I’m able to.”

Jaskier gave a small nod before he reluctantly let go of Geralt’s hand and followed Tissaia as she swept from the room, heart pounding in his chest. 

They walked into Geralt’s room and Tissaia turned to Jaskier, her usually stern eyes softened as she looked at him.

“It’ll be easier if you’re in comfortable clothes, like sleep pants,” she told him carefully, “and I’ll need you shirtless so I can see your scars.”

Jaskier nodded, chewing on his bottom lip before he went to look in the chest of clothes, digging through it before he found a pair of sleep pants. Tissaia had pointedly turned her back and was intently examining a carved wooden horse on one of the shelves covering the walls. 

Jaskier quickly changed, placing his worn clothes over the back of a nearby chair and looked to Tissaia, who had moved onto examining another carving of a horse.

“A young girl gave him that one,” Jaskier told her, getting her attention. “He had saved her mother and the child gave him that as thanks after she saw Roach.” 

Jaskier had smiled broadly when Geralt had told him that story after Jaskier had inquired after seeing the beaten and well-loved horse carving.

Tissaia just hummed as she turned around to face Jaskier. She carefully approached, circling him so she could focus on the scars on his back. She frowned when she spotted a circular one on his shoulder, reaching out to touch it.

“Where is this one from?” she asked as she traced it. 

“A bandit’s arrow,” he answered with a small smile, remembering that occasion. It had been terrifying as it occurred, but Geralt had been quick to protect him…and Jaskier couldn’t forget the worry and concern within those amber eyes as he had fussed over the wound. 

A sudden thought came to mind, of all of the scars he had gotten travelling with Geralt and of all the memories they held.

“C-Can I keep that scar?” he asked suddenly, surprising Tissaia. “Can you just get rid of the ones that Nilfgaard gave me on my back and feet?” 

“Yes, that will make things easier,” Tissaia told him as she placed a hand on his shoulder and steered him towards the bed. “It won’t take as much energy or time if I’m just focusing on the ones on your back and feet. Don’t forget, they all won’t disappear, the deeper ones will remain but they’ll be faint, as though they’ve been there for years.”

Jaskier breathed in again, laying down on his stomach on the bed. He breathed in Geralt’s scent, feeling comforted by the familiarity. A gentle hand rested on the back of his head.

“Sleep now, Jaskier,” Tissaia murmured. “When you awake, the scars will be healed…and you can finally begin to heal.”

With another soft sigh, Jaskier let his eyes drift shut, succumbing to Tissaia’s magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've had the break...and now can begin the true healing :)


	26. Distractions

Geralt watched as Tissaia walked out with Jaskier following closely behind her and had to physically stop himself from hurrying after Jaskier, not liking to leave him alone with a mage – despite Tissaia having proved herself trustworthy. 

Triss smiled at him sadly, hand softly touching his shoulder before she left the room, going to go find Yennefer and Ciri. 

Geralt just stood in place, shaking slightly as he tried to stop himself from going to Jaskier’s side, just to make sure he was safe, like he had promised him.

“Calm, Geralt, calm,” Vesemir said firmly, a strong hand coming to rest on Geralt’s shoulder, a grounding grip. “Your bard will be fine.”

Geralt forced himself to calm, fists clenching and unclenching by his side before he sighed, shoulders dropping slightly under Vesemir’s firm, strong grip. 

“Sorry, Vesemir,” he muttered, staring at the wooden door that Jaskier had disappeared through. “Mages have just hurt him in the past.”

“And you worry for him,” Vesemir finished. Geralt nodded curtly, fists clenching by his sides once more. Vesemir sighed, the old grizzly Witcher squeezing Geralt’s shoulder again, gaining his attention. “Tissaia will not harm him. She has not harmed him in the time she has been here, even though she had access to him. She has not harmed Ciri.”

“I know,” Geralt couldn’t stop the growl, wincing slightly as Vesemir squeezed his shoulder harder in reprimand. “Sorry, Vesemir. I know…but I can’t stop worrying about him!” 

Vesemir released Geralt’s shoulder, patting it reassuringly instead and smiling knowingly at him. “Oh, I know, my boy, I know…but do you really think that I would allow a mage to hurt one of my guests, especially once that has been adopted into our pack?” 

Geralt finally turned to face Vesemir at that, amber eyes surprised as he stared at the elder Witcher, the now patriarch of their very small pack. 

“You’d accept Jaskier as one of us?” he asked quietly, eyes boring into Vesemir’s desperately searching the elder’s unreadable gaze. Vesemir’s face was its usual, even expression before it broke, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips and the corner of his eyes crinkling. 

“Geralt, despite your attempt to hide your emotions, I know you far too well; I did help raise you after all,” Vesemir told him. “I can see how much you care for that boy. He has made life a great deal easier for us Witchers with his songs also and he refused to tell Nilfgaard how to find you, fought against giving them any information despite the pain he was in from the truth potion. The boy may not be a Witcher, but he’s certainly a Wolf.”

Vesemir watched the pleased light spark in Geralt’s eyes at that statement. Though Geralt was a master at keeping his face mostly expressionless – unless a person knew him well enough to know his tells – as part of being a Witcher, so one didn’t give away anything to the humans who hated them, not showing how much the harsh words, the projectiles thrown and the distrust constantly shown, really wore on them, leaving them disenchanted with the human world. One thing that Geralt couldn’t hide, especially from Vesemir, were his expressive eyes which gave so much away…especially the fondness he held for the bard. 

“Go finish Jaskier’s chores,” Vesemir said instead. “That will keep you busy for a little while.”

Geralt nodded, though he still looked torn, glancing towards the wooden door again.

“Finish the chores, train with your brothers, eat something, check on Ciri, then go to the hot springs until you’re more relaxed…and then, and only then, can you go hover outside your bedroom door,” Vesemir ordered him, watching as Geralt’s back straightened, seemingly a bit unburdened since Vesemir gave him orders. 

It was something comforting to the younger Wolves, Vesemir had found, to give them a list to do, to steer them in the right direction if they seemed a bit lost within the keep. It reminded them of a time past, when they didn’t have to worry, when they were younger and the elders made sure they were fed and safe.

It certainly wouldn’t be the same on the Path, but Kaer Morhen was their home, filled with memories – both good and bad. 

“Go on now,” Vesemir told him. Geralt nodded once more before he strode off, going to follow Vesemir’s orders. Vesemir watched him go, shaking his head with a small smile before he went off to go cook lunch for the busy keep. 

It gave him pleasure to cook for his boys, to make sure they were well fed. He knew that times could be tough on the Path, that good food – or even just food – and decent lodgings could be hard to come by. He always liked to make sure his boys were well fed before they went back on the Path.

A long time ago the other Witchers, the other teachers in Kaer Morhen, would have shaken their heads in disbelief and derision, telling him that he shouldn’t be so damn sentimental, that it would be detrimental to the boys to have them _‘coddled’_.

But they weren’t here anymore. 

It was just Vesemir and his three Wolves, plus the occasional Griffin or Cat, these days…and Vesemir would take any moment he could have with his boys, to give them any comfort that they were denied as children. 

Maybe he was getting sentimental in his old age…but Winter was always his favourite time of the year these days.

Shaking his head, Vesemir pushed those thoughts aside, giving a sigh as he heard Lambert’s enraged yell echo throughout the keep, followed by a series of thumps, and Eskel’s voice snarling back.

 _Pups_ , he thought fondly as he headed into the kitchen, walking towards the larder. Sometimes he loved them…other times he wanted to kick them off the tallest tower, especially when he heard the sound of something cracking and Lambert swearing colourfully. 

Geralt walked out into the courtyard, breathing in the cold, winter air deeply, taking a moment to centre himself before he trudged out across the snowy yard, the snow crunching under his boots as he walked over to the stable. 

He walked into the stable, which was well insulated from the outside weather, keeping the horses and Lil Bleater warm and dry. Roach snorted when she saw him, moving forward in her pen so she could stick her head over the half door to her pen, neck stretching out towards Geralt.

“Roach,” Geralt murmured as he walked forward to her side, stopping beside her and stroking her neck. Roach gently head butted his chest, making him smile fondly. She nickered softly, arching her neck up so she could try nibble on the ends of his hair.

“Easy, Roach, easy,” Geralt murmured, moving his hand so he could rub her nose soothingly. “Jaskier will be okay. He’ll be back to ply you with sugar cubes and an endless amount of love and talking soon.”

Roach snorted softly, huffing against Geralt’s hair. Geralt patted her neck once more before he walked over to the cupboard in the corner, opening it and grabbing the large container of oats within it. He walked over to the different pens, filling the food buckets and trough with the oats. He eyed off Scorpion as he filled his food bucket.

“You better keep away from Roach,” he growled at the black stallion. “I won’t hesitate to geld you, Eskel be damned.”

Scorpion just snorted at him, swinging his head to look at Roach over the half wall between them.

“I mean it,” Geralt growled at him before he put the oat bucket back into the wooden cupboard, closing it up tight so the mice didn’t get into it. Geralt went to Roach once more, who snuffled at his hair as he petted her nose. 

He sighed as he rested his head against hers, sighing as worry for Jaskier began to twist his stomach once again. Roach nickered softly against his chest and Geralt smiled sadly at her.

“He’ll be okay,” he reassured her…and himself. “He didn’t leave after I gut punched him in Posada so we both know how stubborn he is. He’ll be okay. I know he will be.”

Roach huffed against him once more and Geralt stroked her neck once again before he pulled away. 

“Keep these ones in line, hmm?” he murmured to her before he stepped away. These chores were done, so he would go to what was next on Vesemir’s list, which was training.  
He walked from the stable, making sure the heavy door was closed properly so the horses and Lil Bleater were protected from the weather, and walked towards the training yard, where he could hear Eskel and Lambert. 

“I thought you would be training inside,” Geralt said as he approached the somewhat snowy training yard. Eskel and Lambert paused for a moment, looking to Geralt.

“Vesemir threw us outside,” Coen replied from where he was working through his stances off to the side. “These two idiots got into a fight and Lambert threw Eskel into a wooden cabinet and broke it, so Vesemir threw us outside in the snow.”

“Smart move,” Geralt grunted, shaking his head. Lambert just scowled at him before he quickly brought his sword up, blocking a blow from Eskel. 

“Shut up,” Lambert growled as he pushed Eskel back slightly. “Shouldn’t you be hovering around your bard?”

“He’s with Tissaia,” Geralt explained, glaring at Lambert. “She was ready for the scar removal today.”

“Shit,” Eskel swore under his breath as he absently threw Lambert back with a strong Aard. “Are you okay?”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked in confusion. “I’m not the one having magic cast upon me.”

Coen looked at him sympathetically while Lambert and Eskel exchanged looks, with Lambert rolling his eyes and looking disgruntled. 

“Idiot,” Lambert muttered, gaining a glare from Geralt, who had heard him. 

“Yeah, Geralt, but he’s your friend,” Coen explained, throwing an unamused look to Lambert. “He’s been through a lot of shit and you’ve been by his side since you managed to rescue him. It’s okay to be worried about him.”

“He’ll be fine,” Geralt grunted as he went to grab a sword from the armoury. He came back to Eskel and Lambert growling about something to each other, before Lambert growled and looked over to Geralt, mouth twisting up in frustration as he looked at the white haired Witcher.

“Oh just admit you’ve got the hots for him!” Lambert shot out before yelping as Eskel smacked him across the back of the head with an open hand.

Geralt just stared at Lambert, hand tightening around the hilt of the sword. “I care for him,” he admitted, a low, warning growl lacing his voice. “He’s been a good companion, one that I didn’t treat as well I should have. Despite how I treated him, he did his best to keep me and Ciri safe, despite the pain he was facing. So, yeah, I’m overprotective of him at the moment…and I don’t want to lose him, not again.”

There was silence in the training yard, as even Lambert and Eskel paused in their training to look at Geralt. Geralt sighed, fidgeting with the sword in his grasp, uncomfortable with his brothers’ gazes upon him. 

“Huh,” Lambert muttered finally as he got back into a ready stance. “Guess there are worse people that you coulda cared for…like Yennefer for example.”

Geralt rolled his eyes as Eskel and Coen snorted with laughter, the uncomfortable tension broken. 

“C’mon, Geralt, let’s spar,” Coen said as he stood, sword in hand. Geralt inclined his head, stepping out into the training yard with Coen. 

“I mean, he’s followed and put up with your moody ass for all of these years,” Lambert continued, even as he and Eskel began sparring once again. “Not to mention he’s actually changed people’s opinion on Witchers because of his songs, despite what fucked up, backwater thugs would think of him.”

Eskel hummed in agreement. “You know that our allies aren’t always treated kindly. He put himself in great risk singing those songs, especially if he sung them in some backwater inn or in the wrong royal court.”

“He’s scrappy when it comes to situations like that,” Geralt told them with a smirk, even as he circled Coen. “Should have seen how many times I actually had to throw him over my shoulder to stop him from lunging at some idiots who insulted me.”

“Yeah, that’s the reason why you threw him over your shoulder,” Lambert snickered, before yelping again as Geralt threw him across the yard with a quick Aard. “For fucks sake, will you two stop that?!” Lambert snarled at Eskel and Geralt. 

Geralt smirked as Coen laughed, even as their swords met with a clash. 

“Well, if he’s that scrappy, he should be fine then,” Eskel reassured Geralt, watching as Lambert climbed back to his feet, swearing as he did so. 

“I know, but Nilfgaard broke him down,” Geralt murmured, knowing the others could hear him perfectly. “He’s never been this quiet or unsure before. He’s usually cocky and loud. I’ve never seen him like this before, that’s what worries me.”

“Well, with Tissaia getting rid of the scars, hopefully that’ll help,” Coen said helpfully. Geralt just hummed, glancing up towards the keep and towards where his bedroom was.

“One can only hope,” Geralt said quietly before he pushed his worries aside as Coen came at him hard, knowing that Geralt needed to be distracted…and that there was no better way then fast, hard training. 

They went inside when their clothes were drenched from both sweat and the cold water of snow they were thrown into from Sign practice or just when their training opponent managed to get the upper hand, their bodies aching pleasantly from the hard work out. 

Vesemir shook his head as he saw them all. 

“Food and then to the hot springs for you all,” he ordered them all as they all piled into the small hall. Ciri grinned at Geralt as he sat beside her, sitting heavily on the bench.  
Yennefer wrinkled her nose, shifting away slightly from the wet and sweaty Witcher. 

“Is Jaskier okay?” Ciri asked Geralt quietly, looking up at him with wide green eyes. Geralt looked to Yennefer, who looked to Triss, who nodded reassuringly from where she was sitting beside Eskel. 

"Tissaia will take care of him," Triss promised her, having been the one to help Tissaia set everything up that morning.

“Yes, he’s okay,” Geralt reassured her. “He’s going to be fine.”

Ciri nodded as she bit into the sandwich she had assembled from the breads, meats and cheeses that Vesemir had prepared for them all. 

“How are your studies going?” Geralt asked her as he reached to fill his own plate. 

“Good!” she responded enthusiastically before wrinkling her nose. “Lots of reading though. I like training with you the best,” she added in a whisper for only Geralt and the Witchers to hear. Geralt smiled at her at that, leaning closer to her.

“I’m glad to hear that…but the book work is important too,” he told her, even as she pouted. “You learn a lot from books, some things that you learn will save your life.”

Ciri nodded, sighing, before going back to her lunch.

Vesemir watched over them all, watching as they all quickly polished off their lunch. 

“Go to the hot springs,” Vesemir told them, though his gaze fell on Geralt as he said it. Geralt nodded, standing up. 

“I’ll see you later, Ciri,” Geralt murmured to her, resting a hand on her shoulder. Ciri nodded happily, looking at him with understanding eyes.

“Take care of Jaskier,” she told him, surprising him. He gave a slow nod before he followed his brothers out of the room and towards the hot spring. 

They all quickly stripped, damp clothes left forgotten in piles on the floor, before they all sunk into the hot water. 

Geralt rested his head back, the hot water seeping the tension from his body, soothing his sore muscles from the hard training. 

He listened to Eskel, Lambert and Coen talking, telling stories about fights and different monsters they faced. Geralt just closed his eyes, letting their voices wash over him, a familiar, comforting sound.

“What about you, Geralt?” Eskel’s voice asked, making Geralt crack open an eye and peer at his dark haired brother. “What was the rarest monster you faced this year?”

“Coen has a nest of Griffins, I’ve got a couple of night Wraiths, Eskel faced a nest of Bruxa…what about you?” Lambert asked as he scratched as the scruff around his jawline. “Can you beat us?”

“Dragon,” Geralt grunted, closing his eyes.

“Bullshit.”

Geralt smirked, opening his once again to look at the three of them. “I didn’t kill it, I actually helped it. It was trying to protect an egg and a King had organised a hunt for it with four groups going for it. I was part of one, with Jaskier, a man called Borch and his two companions. Yennefer was another, with some dumbass knight, and there were a group of dwarves and a group called the Reavers.”

“Jaskier went with you?” Eskel asked, surprised. Geralt winced, shifting slightly.

“We…we parted after that,” he muttered. “It wasn’t a good parting…my fault.”

“So what happened on the hunt?” Coen asked, shifting the conversation away from that very obviously painful reminder. 

Geralt shrugged. “Not much to tell. Reavers were shits who wanted to kill everyone, but only managed to kill the dumbass knight. Dwarves were good though, they led us through a short cut to get to the dragon quicker. Yennefer and I got to the dragon cave to find the dragon dead, having died to protect her egg. Turned out Borch was actually a dragon and we fought alongside him and his companions to protect the eggs from the Reavers.”

“You’re a shit story teller, Geralt,” Lambert grumbled.

“Borch was a dragon?” Coen asked in surprise, ignoring Lambert’s comment. Geralt nodded his head, growling slightly. Borch meant well of course, but he could have kept his comments to himself on top of the mountain. 

“So what happened after that?” Eskel questioned eagerly. “What happened to the dwarves?”

“Borch gave them teeth from the dead dragon so they could present it to the King,” Geralt continued. “That way they’d be able to claim the prize and be given land.”

“Sounds fun,” Coen grinned. “What colour dragon?”

Geralt eyed him, knowing that Griffins did on occasion kill dragons – while the Wolves refused to. 

“I’m not going to go after him, Geralt,” Coen reassured him, though he rolled his eyes slightly. “I know dragons only attack when they’re threatened…and it may have been the way of the Griffins before to kill dragons, but that was before we were attacked. I don’t go after dragons.”

“The mother was a green dragon,” Geralt admitted, knowing he could trust Coen. He had seen Coen with Jaskier, with Ciri, and knew that he was a kind person. He wouldn’t kill a dragon, not when they were so close to extinction, much like the Witchers themselves. “Borch…Borch turned out to be a gold dragon.”

“What?!” Lambert breathed, eyes wild with childlike excitement. “No way! I thought they were a myth!” 

“But that’s a mutation,” Eskel said frowning. “That can’t be a natural thing.”

“I said the same thing before Borch revealed himself,” Geralt said, shaking his head. “Turns out they are real…well, Borch is anyway. He might be the only one left of his kind in the world.”

“Why did he pretend he was part of the hunt?” Coen asked, frowning. 

“He heard the green dragon’s dying call and came to find her body next to the egg,” Geralt explained, trying to remember what Borch had told him. “He was part of the hunt so he could see who the teams were…and he chose me to accompany him because he knew I wouldn’t kill a dragon.”

Coen whistled, shaking his head, looking just as awed as Lambert was. Geralt hid a smile at that. 

Lambert and Coen were in the youngest groups of both of their schools, one of the last groups to be turned into Witchers before both of their schools were destroyed. Despite all of the hardships of their lives, the hate thrown at them, the distrust…it always made Geralt and Eskel and Vesemir smile when they saw that the youngest still had something in him that allowed him to be amazed and awed at things in the world. 

“It was quite a sight,” Geralt admitted, just to give Lambert and Coen that bit more. “He was huge and pure gold, able to broadcast his thoughts as though he was speaking to us normally.”

Geralt stretched, looking towards the door to the hot spring as it opened. Vesemir walked in, carrying some clothes.

“I thought you’d need this, Geralt,” Vesemir said, placing them down. “Seeing as your room is currently occupied.”

“Thank you, Vesemir,” Geralt murmured, inclining his head. 

“Vesemir, did you know Geralt met a gold dragon?” Lambert asked, grinning. Vesemir’s gold eyes softened as he looked to the youngest Witcher. Though he was still decades older than he looked, there was still a part of him that was young. 

“No, he hasn’t told me that story yet,” Vesemir said, looking back to Geralt, who shifted under the attention, slightly uncomfortable. “But I will have to get it from him later, I am about to start my lessons with Ciri. I’m sure she will love to hear this story too.”

Lambert snorted, looking to Geralt. “Gotta tell it with more detail then,” he teased as Geralt rolled his eyes. 

Vesemir just shook his head and left the room. Geralt stretched again, standing up and climbing out of the hot spring. He dried off quickly before getting into the fresh clothes that Vesemir brought him, not sure where the old Witcher had gotten some clothes that fit him perfectly, but it was Vesemir and the old Witcher had his secrets. 

“See you at dinner then?” Eskel asked as he watched Geralt get dressed. Geralt nodded as he clasped the buttons on the right side of the shirt down the chest. 

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” he said as he picked up his damp clothes, placing them on the bench for later, before he nodded to them once more, smiling slightly them at all sprawled out loose limbed in the hot spring pool. He walked out of the room and back into the keep, feeling the slight chill down the stone halls, the cold weather permeating the old keep’s walls, probably through somewhere that was damaged in the sacking.

Despite Vesemir and them patching up the keep as best as they could, there were places that still needed to be repaired. It was a lot of work for the three of them to keep up with the repairs, especially with the weather constantly battering at the damaged parts, or even the newly repaired places, making it worse. 

Sighing, Geralt shook his head. He’d try and find where the cold wind was getting in. It was probably a window that had its seal damaged or falling apart. 

It was hard to keep track of all of the windows in the keep, not to mention all of the walls that have the mortar drying and cracking after the years. Small holes but enough to let the wind and the cold in.

It was why they only kept a handful of rooms warm, especially with just the four of them usually for the winter. Before the sacking, the fires in basically all of the rooms would have been burning, keeping Kaer Morhen warm and comfortable for the inhabitants…but it was too big now for just the handful of them. 

Most of the rooms went unused too. They kept to mostly the small hall, the library, their bedrooms, the inside training room, the hot springs, kitchen and a couple of the small sitting rooms and lounges, while the other rooms were kept unused, though Vesemir went through them to make sure it was in one piece, that mice hadn’t gotten into the unused rooms.

Geralt climbed up the stairs, heading towards his room. As he got close, his medallion began to hum slightly against his chest, detecting the magic being used. He tilted his head as he stopped outside his room, listening intently. 

He could hear Tissaia murmuring quietly, but he ignored that, focusing on the sound of heart beats. 

He could detect which one was Tissaia’s as it beat a little more quickly due to the magic she was using…while Jaskier’s was slow and steady, as though he was asleep. 

Geralt sighed as he shifted to the wall opposite the door to his room, sinking down onto his knees, facing the door. 

He closed his eyes, listening to Jaskier’s steady heartbeat, knowing that Jaskier was in a magical sleep while Tissaia was working. 

Breathing in deep, knowing Jaskier was safe and was just on the other side of the door in case anything happened, Geralt slipped into deep meditation. 

He would be here when Tissaia was done. He would be by Jaskier’s side when he awoke.

It was what Jaskier deserved, to know he had friends by his side, to know he wasn’t alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there's this one...  
> I probably won't get this done before I go away as I'm struggling a bit with writing because of anxiety and I'm still recovering from meningitis symptoms that just won't leave...
> 
> Next chapter might take a bit longer too (hoping one more before i go away) ...as my laptop charger _just_ died on me, so I've ordered in a new one, so hoping it arrives quickly!!
> 
> Leave a comment and let me know if you liked it :)


	27. Home at Last

Geralt lifted his head, opening his eyes, as he heard footsteps. He blinked, looking around at the dark hallway, only lit by the light of the moon shining through the windows evenly placed throughout the stone hall, and towards the footsteps. Vesemir soon appeared, walking towards him through the dark halls, though Geralt had no issue seeing him with his enhanced vision, a benefit of the mutations. 

Vesemir stopped beside him, glancing at him before he sighed and sunk down, settling down to sit on the floor next to the kneeling Geralt. 

“You didn’t eat much at dinner,” Vesemir spoke in lieu of greeting. Geralt hummed, looking back to his bedroom door, still closed.

“Wasn’t feeling all that hungry,” Geralt murmured, sighing as he leaned his head back to rest against the cool stone behind him. 

“You wanted to come back here and wait,” said Vesemir as he looked to Geralt, mouth drawn into a concerned frown. Geralt nodded once more, rolling his head to the side to look at Vesemir.

“I don’t want him to wake alone,” Geralt admitted quietly, fingers pressing against the soft, worn leather of his pants, the feeling grounding him for the moment. 

“Oh?” Vesemir pushed, curiosity piqued. Geralt sighed once again, the breath leaving in a soft, slow exhale. He didn’t know how to explain it to his old mentor. He didn’t know how to explain that twisting, heavy feeling in his guts, the one that made him fret at the thought of leaving Jaskier alone. He remembered Jaskier waking up after they had rescued him, remembering the empty disbelief within those wide eyes.

Jaskier had thought it was a dream, a hallucination that Fringilla had conjured up to torment him with.

Geralt didn’t want Jaskier to wake up from a magic induced sleep, confused and not quite knowing where he was. He didn’t want him to wake alone and think he was back in the Nilfgaardian camp. 

He looked back to Vesemir, who was patiently waiting, knowing that Geralt just needed to get his thoughts in order. 

“When we rescued Jaskier,” Geralt started to explain, voice low and quiet, “he didn’t know where he was when we woke. He believed it was just a hallucination that the Nilfgaardian mage had conjured to torture him with. She had done it before, to punish him for attempting to escape, for mouthing off.”

Vesemir’s frown deepened at that. Perhaps he would mention it to Lambert and Eskel, just in case either of them ran across that mage once they left Kaer Morhen to travel their Path once again.

“When he woke up, he was petrified, Vesemir,” Geralt continued, voice going hoarse as he recalled the pure fear in Jaskier’s blue eyes. “He truly thought it was all a trick, and that he was still back in that camp…and I’ve _never_ seen him that terrified, that beaten down before. He honestly thought he wouldn’t be free again.”

Vesemir swore under his breath, shaking his head in anger. He could never understand humans and their capacity for cruelty, even against those of their own kind. 

“You don’t want him to wake alone because you don’t want him to think that all of this was a dream and that he’s still a prisoner,” Vesemir said in understanding, gaining a single nod from Geralt.

“He’s been hurt enough,” Geralt growled, shaking his head in silent promise. “I won’t let him get again. I won’t let him believe that he’s alone in this world again.”

“He has us now, Geralt,” Vesemir assured him, reaching a gnarled hand to clasp Geralt’s shoulder. “I know that you will fight for Jaskier, especially to keep him safe…but you don’t need to do it alone now. Eskel, Lambert and I will be there to support you and him, no matter what is thrown at us. We’re Wolves, Geralt…and we don’t let anybody harm our Pack.”

Geralt’s lips twisted into a fierce grin at that and he nodded curtly, feeling that protectiveness surge in his chest, knowing that Jaskier and Ciri would be protected, would be fought for, no matter what armies came for them. 

Both of their heads snapped up as the heavy door to Geralt’s room opened, revealing an exhausted and slightly dishevelled Tissaia leaning against the doorframe. She lifted her head tiredly, her eyes filled with exhaustion as she looked at them. 

“He’s still in a healing trance,” she told them, voice hoarse from the fatigue she was suffering after almost a full day of working on Jaskier’s scars. “He will wake soon.”

Vesemir climbed to his feet, groaning slightly as his joints ached and cracked. Even with the mutations, a couple of centuries of fighting monsters and training generations of Witchers does take its toll on the joints. 

He stepped over to Tissaia as Geralt stood up, much more smoothly compared to Vesemir, and offered his arm, which Tissaia took gratefully, unable to trust her shaky, weakened legs to keep her upright.

“Some nourishment and rest will help,” Vesemir murmured to her, patting her hand comfortingly. “We are most grateful for your help with young Jaskier.”

Geralt nodded in agreement, even though he peered into the room, just to check on the sleeping lump sprawled out in the middle of the bed. 

“It was the least I could do,” Tissaia said tiredly. “It was my students who caused him to suffer unnecessarily. Mages are meant to help, to keep Kingdoms strong and protected, not to torture bards.”

Vesemir caught her as she stumbled slightly, helping to straighten her up. “Come now, Mistress Tissaia, you need food and you need rest. That will get you back on your feet in no time.”

Geralt was barely able to keep his face even as he watched Tissaia give Vesemir a small, tired smile. 

“Much appreciated, Master Vesemir,” Tissaia returned with a small incline of her head. Vesemir looked to Geralt, his expression turning stern as he did so.

“Take care of Jaskier now, Geralt,” he ordered him, “and I will see you both tomorrow for breakfast…or an early lunch if the bard requires extra sleep.”

Geralt nodded, shoulders dropping slightly in relief, knowing that Vesemir was just as concerned for Jaskier as he was.

“Of course, Vesemir,” he demurred. Vesemir nodded curtly once more before he carefully led Tissaia down the hall, both of them talking quietly as they went. Geralt watched them go, slightly confused at the easiness of the relationship between them, before shaking his head in disbelief. 

No, the weird relationship between Vesemir and Tissaia wasn’t important at the moment. 

The bard lying in the middle of the bed was more important and needed more attention now. 

Geralt finally managed to rip his gaze away from Vesemir’s and Tissaia’s retreating backs and into his room. He quietly stepped inside, shutting the door carefully behind him.   
He stayed there for a moment, his back pressed against the heavy wood of the door as he stared out over his room. In his peripheral, he could see the shelves lining three of the walls, filled with books, the bits and pieces he had picked up over his years of travel and the gifts he had been given by thankful, relieved humans that he had assisted in some way or another. 

The fireplace carved into the wall opposite the bed – the fireplace bracketed by shelves - had a warm fire blazing within it, keeping the room a comfortable temperature.

Geralt’s attention wasn’t on that though. His focus was on the large bed in the middle of the room, the large, carved headboard pressed up firmly against the stone wall. The thick, heavy winter blankets and furs were pulled back to the foot of the bed, baring the figure sprawled out upon the white sheets to the room. 

With silent footsteps, Geralt walked over to the edge of the bed, examining the man spread out upon it. He couldn’t hold back the small, relieved smile at Jaskier’s peaceful face, the bard’s head turned to the side, facing out to the room. He examined Jaskier’s sleeping, peaceful face for a moment, watching as his lips parted slightly as he dreamt. 

He pulled his gaze away from Jaskier’s face, shifting it down to Jaskier’s bare back, which slowly lifted and fell with every deep breath he took. Geralt breathed out, finding himself both amazed and relieved, as he looked upon the once again smooth skin of Jaskier’s back. 

There were two very faint, sleek scars crossing Jaskier’s back, the light of the fire reflecting off the slightly shinier skin. Geralt carefully reached out, fingers lightly tracing over the scars, feeling the slight difference between Jaskier’s normal skin and the scars. 

The scars looked like they had been there for years and had long healed and faded. 

Curious, Geralt stepped to the side, towards the foot of the bed and Jaskier’s feet. He peered at the bottom of Jaskier’s feet, breathing out in relief once again when he saw that the scars had gone from there also, with only one or two very faint scars marring the skin. 

Geralt shifted back to stand beside Jaskier’s side before he carefully sat down on the edge of the bed. He looked back to Jaskier’s back, eyes drifting up towards his shoulder when he caught sight of something in his peripheral. He frowned as he realised it was a scar, shaped a bit like a starburst. 

It was one that Geralt remembered Jaskier receiving and he knew that there was an identical scar on the front of his shoulder, directly opposite this one. 

It had been given to Jaskier during an ambush with bandits, when one of the lucky fuckers managed to hit Jaskier with an arrow as Jaskier had desperately tried to keep Roach calm and stop the bucking mare from racing off towards the armed bandits. Geralt had been fighting them back, keeping away the sword and axe wielding bandits away from Jaskier and the panicking Roach. 

He wasn’t able to get to the crossbow bearing bandit in time, the bandit managing to get a shot with the bolt going straight through Jaskier’s shoulder. 

Geralt would never forget Jaskier’s scream of pain as the arrow tore through skin and muscle. 

Closing his eyes briefly, Geralt shoved that thought aside. He opened his eyes and looked back to the scar, carefully running a fingertip across it. 

He still remembered going to Jaskier’s side once he had killed the bandits. Jaskier had slumped onto his knees, one hand still clutching on tightly to Roach’s reins while the other was pressed around the bolt still lodged in his shoulder, that hand slowly becoming stained with the blood oozing from the wound. Jaskier had looked up as he hurried over, grinning up weakly at Geralt, his face far too pale. 

Despite the pain Jaskier was surely in, there was still no fear emanating from him…only trust in Geralt.

Geralt shook his head as he took his hand away from Jaskier’s back. 

“Always trusting, Jask,” he murmured to the sleeping bard. “You always trusted me to keep you safe…and even when you were hurt, that trust never wavered. You trusted me to keep you alive then, to treat your wounds.”

Geralt chuckled, shaking his head, recalling how dramatic Jaskier got once he knew he would be okay, demanding that Geralt give him cuddles or cut up his food for him. Geralt usually just rolled his eyes, grumbling under his breath before he did it anyway, just to see Jaskier grin. 

“Always so dramatic,” he murmured as he toed off his boots, before he laid down on his side, facing Jaskier. “Despite you being a giant pain in my ass…I look forward to you going back to your normal, dramatic self.”

Jaskier just snuffled in his sleep. Geralt laughed softly at that before he reached down, grabbing the blankets and pulling it over both of them, keeping them both warm. He rested his head on his forearm as he kept his gaze on Jaskier’s sleeping face. 

The winter wind was howling outside, snow battering against the windows, but in here, under the covers, they were both protected from the frightfully cold weather. Geralt’s repairs over the years made sure that not one whisper of the cold wind managed to get inside. 

With a soft exhale and one last look at Jaskier’s face lax in sleep, Geralt closed his eyes, comforted the familiar, reassuring sound of Jaskier’s soft breaths, steady heartbeat and the soft scent of lavender and chamomile. 

Surrounded by Jaskier’s familiar scent and being so close to Jaskier, feeling his comforting warmth, Geralt managed to drift off into an easy yet light sleep. 

He was woken a few hours later by the sound of snuffling, feeling the bedding shifting slightly under the squirming Jaskier’s weight. Geralt opened his eyes, immediately dilating his pupils as the sunlight shining through the window assaulted his eyes. He scrubbed at his eyes as he peered at the window, seeing the sun had only just begun to rise, which was why it was shining directly through his window.

Grumbling slightly under his breath, Geralt looked to the awakening bard, smirking slightly at Jaskier’s usual waking routine, which consisted of a bit of snuffling and groaning, not wanting to wake up yet. 

“Jask,” he crooned. “Time to wake up now.” 

“Don’ wanna,” Jaskier slurred back, voice heavy with sleep. 

Geralt reached over, lightly scrubbing his knuckles over Jaskier’s ribs, making Jaskier jerk, eyes flying open. Geralt couldn’t help but laugh at Jaskier’s indignant, outraged expression as he glared at Geralt. 

“That was uncalled for,” Jaskier huffed as he ran his hand through his sleep mussed hair. 

“You were doing your squirming wake up routine,” Geralt countered, watching as Jaskier rolled his eyes in response before flopping back down upon the bed heavily. Jaskier tucked an arm under his head as he looked to Geralt, blinking tiredly.

“How long was I out?” he yawned.

“Not even a full day,” Geralt replied. “Tissaia took you in yesterday morning, finished up a few hours ago.”

“Mm,” Jaskier hummed, still looking peaceful. “I thought it’d take longer.”

“So did I.”

Jaskier hesitated for a moment, concern bleeding into his sleepy expression. “A-And the scars?”

“Gone,” Geralt reassured him, reaching out to gently grasp Jaskier’s free hand. “Only two scars left on your back but they look like they’ve been there for years.”

“Good, good,” Jaskier breathed shakily, relief flooding across his face, a darkness that Geralt hadn’t truly noticed fleeing Jaskier’s blue eyes. “T-That’s good…good…yeah.”

Geralt shifted closer as Jaskier begun to ramble, squeezing his hand. “It’s okay, Jaskier,” he murmured soothingly, hearing Jaskier’s heart rate beginning to speed up. “Shh, Jask, it’s okay.”

“I know…I know,” Jaskier stammered, shifting closer to press against Geralt’s side. “I just…wow…I don’t know. I mean, the scars are gone a-and I don’t need to be reminded…but w-what now?”

Geralt shifted his hand to cup Jaskier’s face, getting Jaskier to focus on him.

“Now you heal,” he told him firmly. “There will still be memories, they take time to heal, but there won’t be any physical reminders which should make things easier. So now you can heal…and I’ll be with you, as will Vesemir, Eskel, Lambert and Ciri, every step of the way. Just don’t block me out again this time, Jaskier, please.”

Jaskier nodded, shifting forward to press his forehead against Geralt’s. “I promise,” he murmured quietly. 

Geralt nodded, content with that answer, before his gaze drifted to Jaskier’s shoulder, a scar marring the skin there.

“I’m surprised you didn’t get all of the scars removed,” Geralt murmured. Jaskier gave a weak smile and shook his head.

“Not all scars are bad,” Jaskier retorted, moving his free hand downwards, drifting across lightly haired skin, touching the scars that peeked out of his sleep pants, wrapping around his hip. “These ones all have memories of our adventures.”

“Where you got hurt,” Geralt pointed out, watching as Jaskier gave a lopsided grin in return.

“Where you saved me,” Jaskier rebutted, still smiling. “Where we both survived and went on to live another day.”

“Hmm,” Geralt grunted nonchalantly. 

“No going back to grunting now,” Jaskier teased as he prodded Geralt in the side, digging his thin fingers into the gaps between Geralt’s ribs. “You’ve become so eloquent!” 

Geralt rolled his eyes good naturedly before he reached out to tug Jaskier against his side once again.

“Sleep, Bard,” he growled at him, though it held no heat. “You need to rest. Vesemir is expecting us for either a late breakfast or an early lunch.”

“Early lunch sounds good,” Jaskier yawned as he curled up closer to Geralt, resting his head on Geralt’s broad chest. “Cuddles now.”

“Already so demanding,” Geralt teased lightly even as he wrapped his arms around the lean muscled bard, holding him close. Jaskier just yawned, nuzzling his head against Geralt’s chest. 

“You love it,” Jaskier yawned, making Geralt chuckle lightly.

“Of course, Jaskier…now go to sleep.”

“So grumpy,” Jaskier grumbled as he wrapped his arm around Geralt’s waist, clinging on tightly to him. Geralt chuckled lowly, but said nothing more, instead he shifted his arms around Jaskier, holding him more securely against his side. He could feel Jaskier’s soft puffs of breath against his chest, feel the breaths start to even out, and he sighed, feeling himself relax, knowing that Jaskier was going to be okay.

Vesemir stood at the edge of the training yard, barking instructions to his boys as they trained in the melting snow. Geralt was up against Lambert as Coen sparred against Eskel. Ciri was practising against one of the wooden dummies as Yennefer stood beside her, giving her encouragement. 

Triss and Tissaia had left Kaer Morhen within the past couple of weeks, after Jaskier’s underwent the magical procedure to heal his scars. They decided to go back out, to be seen again, and Tissaia needed to head back to Aretuza, to train the next batch of mages – though she grumbled about her new recruits being ones pushed in there by Lords, not because they had talent or potential. 

Vesemir watched as Geralt lifted his sword in time to block a blow from Lambert, using the momentum to push Lambert back.

“Good, Geralt!” Vesemir called out. Geralt nodded, though he kept his sharp gaze on Lambert, who was pacing in front of him, searching for an opening. 

Geralt had become a lot more relaxed since Jaskier had had his scars healed and as Jaskier seemingly became more confident. The bard had definitely opened up again, becoming confident and more open, more prone to smile and chatter along endlessly to Geralt and Ciri. He had even taken up playing his lute again. Vesemir had seen the fond look in Geralt’s eyes as he watched Jaskier play his lute even as he danced around the small hall with Ciri. 

Of course, it wasn’t all good. There were times when the memories became too much for Jaskier and even talking didn’t seem to take that burden from his shoulders, so on those days he went quiet and stayed stuck to Geralt’s side like a burr. Geralt didn’t seem to mind though, making sure Jaskier was reassured and making sure that Jaskier knew he was safe. 

Vesemir nodded once more, content that the boys could handle themselves…even as Coen yelped and was sent flying into a damp hay bale with a power Aard sign from Eskel.   
He walked into the keep, pausing at the entry and tilting his head as he listened intently. 

Finally he heard it, the strum of a lute.

Vesemir followed it to the library, walking inside the warm room to see Jaskier curled up in an armchair, absently strumming at the lute as he hummed along, apparently composing a new song. 

Jaskier looked up as he walked in, settling into the armchair across from him.

“Vesemir,” Jaskier greeted, pausing in his strumming. “Training over for the day?”

“No, the boys are still at it,” Vesemir said simply as he stared at the young bard. “They can handle themselves, they don’t need me to watch over their every move.”

“Until Lambert gets thrown into a wall again,” Jaskier chortled with a grin. Vesemir chuckled in agreement, giving a nod. 

“How are you healing, young Jaskier?” Vesemir asked instead.

“Better,” Jaskier said truthfully as he looked at the elder Witcher. “Some days are hard, don’t get me wrong…but everything doesn’t feel so hopeless now.”

Vesemir nodded again. “Good, good.”

Jaskier tilted his head as he regarded Vesemir, who was sitting silently, seemingly examining him for something.

“Is…is there something I could help you with, Vesemir?” Jaskier asked timidly, fingers twitching over the strings of his lute. Vesemir hummed for a moment before he leaned forward, gold eyes fixed intently on Jaskier’s face. 

“There was a year when Geralt came to Kaer Morhen for Winter…and he spoke of meeting a bard who attached himself to him and barely left Geralt’s side,” Vesemir started to say, voice low and even. “Despite all of the dangers and the horrors that Geralt faced on the road, the bard stayed, even helping to change public opinion after Geralt’s reputation was destroyed at Blavikin.” 

Jaskier just remained silent, unsure where Vesemir was going with this.

“Then for years after that, Geralt would always come back with stories to tell about the bard and his tone went from annoyed to fond with every story told, with every year that passed,” continued Vesemir, eyes still fixed on Jaskier. “I will admit, I was curious to know what possessed this bard, what possessed _you_ to follow Geralt for decades, despite rough conditions, despite monsters, despite Geralt’s eyes turning pitch black from potions…yet Geralt said despite all of that, you never smelt of fear, that you tried to defend him despite the danger you put yourself in when you did so. I have to admit, at first I was suspicious, but you never seemed to want anything from Geralt except for his company – despite how grumpy he can be – and the stories he could give you…and then I will admit I became curious to know who you were, what made you follow him around.”

“He didn’t want anything from me,” Jaskier answered quietly, meeting Vesemir’s gaze steadily. “All of my life people have wanted something from me. My parents expected me to be a respectable Viscount, to marry who they wanted me to marry. When I became a bard, even as I trained at Oxenfurt, t-there were people who wanted me to give them _everything_ of me…and I refused and I found it difficult to get court positions at the start because I wouldn’t succumb to their advances. I want to love who I want on my own terms, even if things don’t work out. I don’t want to be forced to do anything, just like I wouldn’t force anyone to do anything for me that they didn’t want to do.”

Vesemir nodded in understanding, waiting for Jaskier to continue.

“Even when I went out on my travels, performing in courts, I could never stay for long because then they wanted more from me, expected that I would succumb to their wants and desires, to become their pampered pet…but I _hate_ being tied down, being caged. Geralt…Geralt never expected that of me. He let me come and go whenever I wanted, he never expected me to be anything I wasn’t, just expected me to be me,” Jaskier finished hoarsely. Vesemir inclined his head once again, beginning to understand Jaskier.

“I have to admit, I always wanted to meet you, to figure you out,” Vesemir said quietly. “I wanted to know what possessed you to follow him all of these years, especially since when you met Geralt he still carried the moniker of Butcher.”

Jaskier shook his head. “I couldn’t tell you why…but I just _knew_ that there was more to that Butcher story, that he was actually a decent person and – beside the gut punch when I first met him – Geralt was always honourable, more so than the human lords and kings were came across.”

“There is something curious about you, Jaskier,” Vesemir stated. “I’ve watched you these last couple of months, trying to figure you out…but I think all it is, is that you are a decent human with a good heart.”

Jaskier snorted slightly at that. “Mmm, that’s debatable.”

Vesemir gave him a disapproving look, making Jaskier sigh and fidget nervously, fingers twitching around his lute. 

“D-Don’t tell Geralt this,” he begged quietly. Vesemir’s brow furrowed in confusion but he nodded, unsure of what the bard was worried about.

“If it isn’t something I deem necessary for him to know, then I won’t,” promised Vesemir.

“Cahir…Cahir thought the same as you in a way,” Jaskier said hoarsely. “He was intrigued with me, wanted to know what was so _special_ about me that a Witcher would let me follow him around for decades…but then his curiosity turned…it deepened, I guess, and his curiosity and intrigue turned into some sort of obsession and possession, I guess?”

“What do you mean?” Vesemir pushed carefully. Jaskier frowned, eyes uncertain as they flickered up to look at Vesemir.

“He got _touchy_ ,” Jaskier murmured. “Pressed me up against a pole with his body and said that he wanted to keep me, but he had to follow orders. If it wasn’t the Nilfgaardian’s Emperor’s orders, I really think he would have kept me as some sort of pet.”

Vesemir winced at that before leaning forward, clasping a hand on Jaskier’s knee. Jaskier smiled weakly at the comforting gesture.

“He’s not going to get you again, Jaskier,” Vesemir promised. Jaskier just nodded, taking in a shaky breath. 

They sat in silence for a while, with Vesemir leaning back in his own armchair, arms folded over his chest. 

“You know, when you first started following Geralt – and Geralt allowed you to do so – I disapproved,” Vesemir said suddenly, gaining Jaskier’s attention once again. “But over the years, I saw Geralt soften, become more content to spend time with his brothers…and he looked healthier than I’ve seen him in a long time.”

Jaskier blinked, leaning forward ever so slightly as he listened to Vesemir.

“If this had happened before the sacking, many of the elder Witchers would have punished Geralt for allowing you to become a constant in his life, for letting his guard down around you, letting you treat his wounds, wash his hair and for sharing his sleeping space with you,” continued Vesemir, voice quiet but eyes faraway, lost in a memory. “They would have said it made him weak, made him vulnerable…but you know what, Jaskier, they’re not here anymore. They’re all dead, yet Geralt still survives.”

Jaskier just nodded uncertainly, allowing Vesemir to get this off of his chest. Vesemir blinked, eyes becoming focused once again as he looked back to Jaskier.

“Perhaps being aloof and solitary was the way of the Witchers once, but there are only four of us left from the Wolf school…and I’ll be damned if I don’t let those boys enjoy every bit of kindness and happiness they are able to get. You make my boy happy, Jaskier. You make sure he’s cared for, that he stays alive, and I will be forever grateful to you for that,” Vesemir said firmly before sighing, rubbing at his eyes tiredly in a moment of vulnerability Jaskier had ever seen in the elder Witcher. “Those boys deserve any happiness they can get so when the time does come…well, at least there may be some happy memories from this shitty, fucked up life.”

Jaskier was speechless and he truly didn’t know what to say to that. What could he say for that?

Finally he took in a breath, smiling at Vesemir shakily. “Thank you,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “Geralt, you, Eskel, Lambert and Coen all deserve so much more from this world, from everybody you help.”

“It is kind of you to say that, Jaskier,” Vesemir murmured, giving a bitter smile, “but we all know what most humans are like.”

Jaskier huffed at that, nodding grimly. Unfortunately he was all too aware. 

A sudden thought came to Jaskier and he frowned, looking to Vesemir.

“There aren’t any more Wolf Witchers?” Jaskier asked quietly. “I know Geralt said that some preferred to stay on the Path and not return to Kaer Morhen since the sacking…too many bad memories.”

“A lot of Witchers did die during the sacking,” Vesemir confirmed gravelly. “Far too many.”

“So there could be others out there,” Jaskier said hopefully. Vesemir looked at him, giving a slight, sad smile and shook his head.

“There were five other Wolves who were still alive at last count,” Vesemir murmured, “but I have not heard from them in decades, nor have I heard a whisper or rumour about them. Despite having no confirmation, I don’t believe they are alive – whether they were killed fighting a monster or if they met their end at the hands of humans, but I don’t hold any hope for their survival. It has been too long since they last checked in.”

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier said quietly. Vesemir just shook his head, looking at the bard softly. 

“I’ve long since accepted that we’re going extinct,” Vesemir sighed tiredly. “I just want to make sure that these boys have a home to come back to when they need somewhere safe. I would have been told not to coddle them…but times have changed, haven’t they, Jaskier?”

Jaskier nodded. “They have…and I know that Geralt thinks the world of you. I-I’ve never had a real home before, but I can see how you care for them, how comfortable they are…and I know that this is what home is meant to be like.”

Vesemir smiled as he stood up, gently patting Jaskier’s shoulder.

“This is your home too, young Pup,” Vesemir promised him. “You may not be a Witcher, but you definitely are a Wolf…and you will always be welcomed here.”

Jaskier watched Vesemir leave, a little dumbfounded by that comment. He truly couldn’t believe that Vesemir had accepted him like that, named him as one of theirs…but he had.

Jaskier leaned back in the armchair, a thoughtful frown on his face as he absently strummed at his lute, recalling his conversation with Jon about homes.

He’d never really had anywhere he’d truly call home…but perhaps here, with Geralt, he might actually find it for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my new computer charger finally arrived and I've scrambled to get this chapter done for you before I go away!  
> One more chapter to go (I'm pretty sure) ...but that will have to wait until I come back from my holiday on the coast :P
> 
> Thanks for all the comments, I've loved reading each and every one!


	28. Wanted

Jaskier grinned as he shook his head in disbelief, listening to Lambert’s dramatic, exaggerated story. Even Geralt was shaking his head, eyes filled with amusement as the telling grew even more dramatic, with Lambert standing up and acting out his fight with this huge, unbeatable monster, grinning at Ciri’s giggles, gasps and applause at all of the dramatic moments. 

Jaskier looked away from the dramatic story telling as Yennefer settled down to sit beside him, a glass of wine held elegantly in hand as she watched Lambert with a perfectly arched, manicured eyebrow. 

“So it’s only Geralt who lacks the ability to regale a detail filled story,” Yennefer murmured to Jaskier who laughed softly. 

“Oh, you have no idea,” he chuckled, grinning slightly as Geralt turned to him, pouting slightly. “Took me ages to get him to describe a monster. Only took me making things up so terribly wrong that he’d tell me just to make sure I didn’t say a ghoul was bright blue.”

Yennefer shook her head with derision before sipping her wine. “Of course you’d say a ghoul was blue.”

“I needed it for a rhyme,” Jaskier shrugged nonchalantly. Yennefer just looked at him before she laughed softly, looking to Geralt, who rolled his eyes in return and went back to listening to Lambert’s dramatic telling. 

Jaskier leaned back against the couch arm, reaching out to grab his lute from where it had been resting against the side of the couch. He plucked the strings lightly as he continued to listen to Lambert’s story, not wanting to steal the attention away from the loud, brash Witcher. 

Yennefer also leaned back, all loose limbed and relaxed as she watched with half-closed eyes. She looked to Jaskier, who was also looking relaxed…much more relaxed than she had seen him in a while, at least since the dragon hunt. 

Tissaia getting rid of his scars had seemed to have lifted a horrible weight from Jaskier’s shoulders. 

“How are you going, puppy?” she asked him quietly, catching his attention, blue eyes immediately flickering to the side to look at her. 

“Better,” he admitted quietly, exhaling softly as he looked to her, smiling weakly. “I’ve been getting better.”

“Good,” Yennefer said shortly before she sipped her wine again. “Despite how annoying you can be, I did miss your bubbly, chatty personality.”

Jaskier snorted, eyes filling with fondness as he stared at her, corners of his eyes crinkling with mirth. “Ah, Yen, always knew you cared.”

“It would have made Geralt _unbearable_ if he didn’t get you back,” Yennefer poked. “He would have _pined_ and done that pouty, grouchy look.”

Geralt threw a glare over his shoulder at her, which she returned with a smile.

“Well, can’t have that, can we?” Jaskier said lightly as he smiled at Geralt, who returned it briefly before his attention was caught by Ciri. 

“No, though I still don’t understand why he’s so enamoured with you. I would have thrown you off a cliff a day after you started following me,” Yennefer continued, watching as Jaskier rolled his eyes.

“Ah, Yennefer, your jokes are old…just like you,” Jaskier returned with an easy, teasing grin. “You would have missed me, don’t deny it!”

Yennefer smiled at that, giving him a small incline of her head. “Well, I would have missed this,” she admitted. “No one likes to trade barbs with me, not like you…and there’s something about you. You get under one’s skin, like an annoying puppy, can’t help but be protective of you.”

Jaskier smiled at her warmly, reaching out to pat her knee. “Always knew you were a softy, Yen.”

“Tell anyone and no one will find your body,” Yennefer warned, though her purple eyes showed her amusement, a small flicker of a smile pulling at her lips. Jaskier winked at her as he settled back against the worn, soft cushions. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, dear Yennefer,” he promised, glancing at Lambert as he finally got to the crux of his story telling, somehow getting even louder. 

Vesemir was looking at Lambert grumpily, his attention having been pulled from the stitching he was doing as he tailored an old Witcher’s outfit into something that would fit Ciri’s small frame. 

Jaskier watched as Coen finally tackled Lambert down, grinning broadly as he pinned the youngest Wolf Witcher down.

“You’re so full of shit, Lamb,” Coen teased.

“You’re just jealous,” Lambert returned as he managed to break Coen’s pin, twisting them around. “Cause you don’t have a better story.”

“Mine are way better than yours!”

“Yeah, then prove it!” Lambert challenged. “Our Wolf Pup can decide whose story is better!” 

“Deal,” Coen said before he heaved Lambert off of him, depositing him heavily on the floor. “Eskel, Geralt, you in on this?”

“No,” Geralt answered easily as he leaned back. “Apparently I’m shit at telling stories.”

“Only you could tell a story about a dragon hunt and make it sound boring,” Lambert told him in disgust. Geralt shrugged simply.

“Not a bard, don’t need details,” he said, jerking his thumb in Jaskier’s direction. “That’s why I’ve got him.”

Jaskier laughed happily at that, grinning at Geralt, who smiled back. 

“What would you do without me?” Jaskier teased playfully.

“Be boring,” Lambert muttered.

“Can’t all have our heads up our arse like you, Lamb,” Eskel said as he reached out to slap the back of Lambert’s head. “Also, I’m in for the story telling contest for our little Wolf.”

Ciri grinned broadly at that, settling down on the soft pile of furs to get ready for the stories. She looked over at Yennefer, who was sipping her wine.

“Yen, are you going to tell a story?” she asked.

Yennefer laughed softly and shook her head. “I don’t have that many interesting stories, Ciri.”

“That don’t involve magical orgies,” Jaskier said under his breath as he strummed at his lute, gaining a dark look from Yennefer. Ciri just shrugged and turned her attention back to the Witchers.

Jaskier watched as the story telling contest began, with Geralt throwing in comments and jibes to throw off his brothers every now and again, and smiled, relaxing further as he watched them. 

There was something very… _comforting_ and home-y about the whole scene. 

There were Eskel, Lambert and Coen competing with their stories, all loud and full of jokes and snide, teasing comments. Ciri was laughing, the sound echoing across the room. Geralt was chuckling along, resting a large hand on Ciri’s head as she leaned against his leg. Vesemir was shaking his head like a long suffering parent as he continued to sew the clothing for Ciri. Yennefer was laughing softly beside him as she listened to the story competition. 

A soft, fond smile graced Jaskier’s lips as he watched, fingers strumming a soft, light tune on his lute. 

He felt safe at Kaer Morhen, a safety he had only felt when he was travelling with Geralt. There was also that sense of calm he had when it was just him and Geralt camping, just the two of them relaxed around the fire. 

That had been the thought that had sprung to mind when Jon spoke of home. The feeling of acceptance and safety he had with Geralt…that had felt like home…a feeling that Jaskier hadn’t had since he was a young child, before the burden of responsibility of being a Viscount. 

Jaskier tilted his head as he regarded the warm, comfortable room, gaze drifting over the occupants who had welcomed him, who had cared for him and made him feel safe.  
His gaze finally settled on Geralt, who was laughing at something Eskel had said, laughing that familiar, low laugh. 

Perhaps this was what home truly felt like…what home truly was.

Somewhere safe with people who truly cared for you.

Jon glanced up as the tent flap was lifted and a figure ducked through quickly, the flap falling shut with a heavy ‘thwap’ behind them.

“Cahir,” Jon greeted as he stretched out his long limbs, wincing as his muscles pulled having tightened after being hunched over his work table for so long, working on some new healing potions, just to make sure he had enough for any upcoming battles. He frowned when he saw the expression on Cahir’s face. It would be unnoticeable to most, but Jon had known him longer…so he could see the tightening around the corner of Cahir’s eyes, the pressed, thin lips and the clenched jaw.

“What’s happened?” he asked, indicating for Cahir to take a seat on one of the cots. Cahir sat down heavily, his sharp gaze watching Jon as Jon settled down to sit upon the cot opposite Cahir, their knees almost pressed together. The healer waited for Cahir to speak, knowing it was best not to push and to allow Cahir to get his thoughts in order first.   
Finally Cahir looked up, meeting Jon’s concerned gaze. 

“This was just delivered to me,” he said, voice eerily even, before he reached into his pocket, pulling out a folded piece of parchment. Jon frowned as he took the offered paper, carefully unfolding it.

He stared at it once it unopened, not quite believing what he was seeing. He looked up to Cahir, who had a look of grim acceptance on his face.

“Why does our Emperor want him so badly?” Jon breathed as he glanced down at the Wanted poster which was adorned with a rather good sketch of Jaskier, saying that he was wanted alive and was to be brought to any Nilfgaard encampment for a reward. 

“I don’t know,” Cahir admitted, frowning. “At first I thought it was to get the Witcher so we could determine Cirilla’s location, but now I think there is something else at play. The bard is out of reach now, in the protection of the Witcher, so there is no way we could get him again to use as blackmail.”

Jon frowned down at the poster once again. He absently wondered who had given Jaskier’s description to the artist as it was a fairly accurate rendition. 

“Jon, if we find him, we have to send him to Nilfgaard, despite your vision,” Cahir said quietly. Jon shuddered at the reminder, visions of Nilfgaard burning suddenly flashing across his memory. 

“Nilfgaard will _burn_ , Cahir, if Jaskier is sent there,” Jon whispered, voice breaking.

“I know, Jon, I know,” Cahir sighed, “but we can’t disobey orders. I doubt we will find him, as I’m sure the Witcher will keep him hidden away, but we have our orders.”

Jon shuddered again, handing the wanted poster back to Cahir, who took it and tucked it away.

“If you want to leave, Jon, I’d understand,” Cahir said quietly, just to make sure no one could hear them. “I’ll even help you sneak away if you want to go.”

Jon smiled ruefully and shook his head, red curls bouncing with the motion. “You know, when the Mage, Yennefer, came into my tent after tracking Jaskier’s belongings, she offered to get me out of here too.”

Cahir just blinked, surprised by that admission. Jon gave a soft, sad chuckle at the bewildered look on Cahir’s face.

“We had a small conversation when she was here, in my tent, when she interrogated me about Jaskier’s belongings and if they had any tracking spells on it and why I had it,” Jon continued quietly with Cahir listening, enraptured. “I told her that I was the only one trusted not to destroy Jaskier’s things…and she was curious, well, suspicious more like, of why I hadn’t called for help, why I was answering her questions. I told her that Jaskier and I had spoken, that I had gotten to know him…and that he deserved to find his home.”

Cahir just sighed softly, shaking his head. He had known that Jon hadn’t put up a fight because of his vision, because he _knew_ that Jaskier had to be rescued in order to save Nilfgaard, to save their people. 

“She offered to take me with them and I gave her the same response I’m going to give you now,” Jon said, leaning forward so he could meet Cahir’s gaze more firmly. “These men are my people, my men. I’m here to make sure they make it home to Nilfgaard, to their families, to their lovers. I’m here to make sure you survive this…no matter what orders come our way.”

Cahir nodded, reaching out grasp Jon’s forearm. Jon twisted his arm so he could also grasp Cahir’s forearm.

“Things will work out,” Cahir murmured. “Destiny has a plan for us all. We just have to follow it.”

Jon inclined his head, exhaling slightly. He wasn’t quite sure it was that easy, not with the choices they were made to face, but all he could do was just go along with everything.  
It was the only way to stay alive. He had learned that the hard way.

He only hoped that Jaskier remained hidden away so there was some choices they didn’t have to face because Jon wasn’t quite sure that he nor Cahir could go against the orders of their Emperor, the man who had saved them both.

Fringilla smirked at the wanted poster she held in her hands. She always hated losing and losing the bard – and therefore disappointing the White Flame – had angered her. She wasn’t sure why the bard was so intriguing to the Emperor, but she trusted him and knew that he must have had a plan. After all, he foresaw all. 

She knew that the Witcher had the bard now and that Yennefer was probably with them both. Fringilla screwed up her nose in disgust at that.

Yennefer…always getting in the way, having to get her way and be the best. 

Fringilla scoffed at that. Yennefer may think she was the most powerful, but in reality she was _nothing_. She followed a Witcher around like a love sick dog while Fringilla was leading Nilfgaard to a glorious victory. 

Sure, the Witcher and Yennefer may have saved the bard for now…but Nilfgaard would be victorious, they would get him again. The Emperor demanded it and it would be done.  
However, Fringilla thought smugly, it would be nice to rub it in Yennefer’s face, to let her know that she may have won for now, but in the end she would lose. 

Fringilla’s lips twisted into a cruel smile. She knew exactly who to see to make sure that Yennefer got the message. 

Tissaia frowned as she looked over the notes on the desk, barely keeping from burning them up in disgust. 

No longer were the girls chosen for their talent in Chaos…no, it was all about Lords and their riches and their _influence_ pushing their talentless daughters into Aretuza as though it was some Temple school. 

Once Aretuza flourished with talented young girls needing to hone their power, or have their power used to power Aretuza. Now they were lucky to find one or two truly talented girls. 

Tissaia looked up as her door opened, ready to snarl at the one who dared to enter without her permission. She froze when she saw who came striding in, looking as though she owned the place. Tissaia slowly pushed herself to her feet, glaring at the woman as she came to a stop in front of her desk.

“Fringilla,” Tissaia said darkly. “What are you doing here? I should call for the others after what you pulled at Sodden.”

Fringilla just smirked at her. “You were there without permission, remember, Tissaia?”

“After you lied to the Brotherhood,” Tissaia hissed back. “You swore that Nilfgaard was just after Cintra, but how many cities and towns have burnt since then?”

Fringilla just rolled a shoulder in a half-hearted, uncaring shrug.

“It is what is necessary,” she said simply. Tissaia glared back at her.

“To find Princess Cirilla,” she snapped, gaining Fringilla’s attention. Tissaia smiled coldly at her. “I’ve heard the rumours, heard that the princess escaped Cintra’s fall…that she escaped your army.”

Fringilla’s dark eyes went ice cold and she fixed an emotionless smile on her face.

“We will find her,” she promised Tissaia. “It is only a matter of time.”

Tissaia felt a surge of smug pleasure in her chest, knowing that that wasn’t true. There was no way that Nilfgaard would find Ciri, no way they could even get close to Kaer Morhen with the path only known to Witchers…and now with the many, many added protection spells that she, Triss, Sabrina and Yennefer had placed around the old keep. 

“I don’t suppose you’ve heard from Yennefer since Sodden?” Fringilla asked suddenly, breaking Tissaia from her thoughts.

“Yennefer does what she wants, you know this,” Tissaia said calmly, watching Fringilla with sharp eyes. Fringilla laughed bitterly. 

“Oh, I know. Always has to get in the way,” she snarled. Tissaia smirked at the sound, folding her arms across her chest.

“Thwarted your victory yet again?” Tissaia questioned innocently, just to watch Fringilla’s scowl deepen. Fringilla just dropped a piece of paper onto Tissaia’s desk instead.

“Give her that,” snapped Fringilla. “Tell her she may have gotten him back and won that round, but in the end Nilfgaard will be victorious.”

Tissaia frowned, watching as Fringilla spun on heel and stalked from the room. She waited until her office door slammed shut before she warily looked to the piece of paper laying innocently on her desk. 

With cautious, careful fingers, Tissaia picked the piece of paper up, flipping it around so she could see the message that Fringilla so desperately wanted to gloat over Yennefer with. 

She wasn’t ashamed to admit that her heart skipped a beat at the familiar face staring back at her, dread crushing her chest as she read over the Wanted poster, taking in all of the details.

“Oh, Jaskier,” she breathed, seeing that Nilfgaard wanted him alive and were offering a rather substantial reward for him. “They just can’t leave you to heal, can they?”

With a sigh, Tissaia tucked the Wanted poster away, striding around her desk so she could conjure a portal.

She needed to warn the Witchers.

Jaskier hummed to himself as leisurely walked through the halls of Kaer Morhen. He’d spent the morning doing his usual chores before he braved the chilly winds to watch the Witchers and Ciri train for a while. When he’d become a shivering mess, Geralt had firmly turned him towards the keep, ordering him to the hot springs. 

He’d been a couple of hours luxuriating in the gloriously warm water until he was relaxed and warm and his fingers had begun to prune. Once he had had his soak, he had headed back up to his and Geralt’s room to get changed into warm, comfortable clothes for the rest of the day. 

Jaskier pushed open the door to the small hall and froze when all eyes suddenly turned to him, all expressions grim and worried from where they were gathered around the end of the large wooden table, all looking at something grasped in Geralt’s hand.

“Tissaia,” Jaskier greeted, barely able to keep the worried waver from his voice. “Didn’t know you were here!” 

Tissaia looked at him sadly, seemingly unable to find the words as she looked towards Geralt and Yennefer. Geralt sighed and stood up, walking over to Jaskier, who trembled slightly.

“G-Geralt, w-what’s going on?” he whispered worriedly. Geralt sighed before he carefully shifted closer to Jaskier, reaching out with his free hand to gently grasp Jaskier’s shoulder.

“Tissaia was delivered this,” Geralt told him quietly, handing him the piece of the paper in his hand. Jaskier shakily took it, breath catching in his throat when he saw his own face staring back at him. 

Geralt moved his now free hand to carefully rest on the back of Jaskier’s neck, stroking reassuringly at the nape of his neck, hearing Jaskier’s heartrate pick up and feeling it thrumming under his fingers. 

“We’re not going to let anything happen to you,” Geralt promised quietly as his nose twitched, picking up Jaskier’s fear. 

Jaskier nodded desperately, a choked sob escaping his control. 

“Jask,” Geralt tried but Jaskier shook his head, stepping back out of Geralt’s reach and shoving his wanted poster back into Geralt’s hand. He gave Geralt his best shaky smile before he shook his head once more.

“I-I know you won’t let anything happen to me…I just…I need to be alone,” Jaskier stammered. Geralt inclined his head, watching with worried eyes as Jaskier turned on heel and quickly hurried out, hearing Jaskier’s quick footsteps turn into a run as soon as he was far enough from the door. 

Geralt sighed heavily, shoulders slumping somewhat before he turned to look at the others, who all looked just as worried as he felt. 

“It’s concerning how much Nilfgaard want the boy,” Vesemir spoke up, restarting their earlier conversation, a deep frown lining his old face. “There’s something else at play here.”

“That’s the same thought I had,” Tissaia added, folding her arms across her chest again. “But either way, we can’t let Nilfgaard get hold of him again.”

“We won’t,” Lambert swore darkly, eyes flashing. “They’ll all burn before they hurt him again.”

Geralt glanced towards the door, frowning.

“Geralt, go to Jaskier,” Vesemir’s voice ordered him. “He shouldn’t be alone at the moment.”

Geralt nodded, knowing he couldn’t just stand by and talk about why Nilfgaard were so desperate to get their hands on Jaskier. He marched through the door and followed Jaskier’s worried scent up to their room. 

Jaskier was leaning against the window, staring out over the keep grounds and over the mountain side beyond. 

“Jask?” Geralt asked gently as he walked to Jaskier’s side, leaning against the wall beside him. “Are you okay?” he asked, even though he knew how ridiculous it sounded. 

Jaskier gave a weak laugh and a jerky nod. “Yeah, I guess…but no?”

Geralt just waited, watching as Jaskier shuffled slightly in place before he sighed, tearing his eyes away from the view and turning to face Geralt instead.

“I know you’ll protect me, Geralt,” Jaskier told him sincerely as he took Geralt’s hands in his own, just needing the touch to ground him. Geralt squeezed his hands in return. “It’s just…I can’t be _free_.”

Geralt frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I can’t go back to following you on the Path, to perform as I used to because Nilfgaard are still searching for me,” Jaskier explained quietly, eyes dropping down to stare at their entwined hands. “I can’t leave Kaer Morhen without being in some sort of danger…and while Kaer Morhen is home, here with you and Ciri and Vesemir, Lambert, Coen and Eskel…and even Yennefer,” Jaskier joked weakly, “but…but while it’s home, it’s also going to become my cage a-and I can’t be caged, Geralt, I _can’t_!”

Geralt quickly gathered the anxious bard into his arms, hugging him close. Jaskier wrapped shaky arms around Geralt’s broad bulk, clinging onto him tightly.

“It’s not going to be your cage, Jaskier,” Geralt murmured in his ear. “I was planning to stay here longer than I usually do and well into Spring, just to make sure Ciri is settled…but I was never going to go back on the Path without you.”

Jaskier frowned, looking at Geralt in confusion. “B-But…Nilfgaard will always be searching for me and people won’t hesitate to give me up if it means they get a reward. I can’t return to Oxenfurt either.”

Geralt shook his head. “No, Oxenfurt wouldn’t be safe…but you’ll be safe with me,” Geralt murmured. “We’ll stick to the North, far away from Nilfgaard’s influence, away from anywhere they could send their scouts.”

“But doesn’t Eskel patrol the North?”

“He won’t mind,” Geralt was quick to reassure him. “He just wants you safe as well…and I know that I can’t keep you locked up here, even if you’d be safe, and I’d much prefer you travel by my side so I can keep an eye on you since you tend to find trouble wherever you go.”

Jaskier grinned weakly at Geralt’s teasing remarks. 

“You’ll just have to either stay locked in taverns when I’m on a dangerous hunt, or you stay with Roach somewhere safe,” Geralt warned him. Jaskier nodded, understanding that things couldn’t go back to the way it had been…but perhaps it would be better.

Jaskier gave a shaky breath as he let his head drop against Geralt’s shoulder. 

“I just…I can’t believe they’re still hunting me,” Jaskier murmured shakily as he clung on tighter to Geralt. “I want to be safe a-and I know I am with you b-but I also know that we’re gonna be in a lot more danger now…and I don’t know what I can do.”

Geralt pulled back suddenly, startling Jaskier. The white haired Witcher just smiled at him.

“Wait a moment,” he told Jaskier. Jaskier nodded in confusion, watching as Geralt headed over to the many shelves and dug around behind some carved wooden boxes, finally pulled out an item wrapped in cloth. Geralt walked back over to stand in front of Jaskier, offering up the bundle. Jaskier took it, glancing at Geralt, before he unwrapped it, staring at the dagger lying upon the dark blue cloth. 

Jaskier ran light, reverent finger tips over the flower engravings within the hilt. 

“I found it in the village while we were getting supplies,” Geralt explained quietly as he watched Jaskier’s expressions. “When I was, uh, looking through your bags after we rescued you, making sure everything was packed for our trip back to Ciri, I noticed that your dagger was gone.”

“They took it from me when they kidnapped me,” Jaskier explained quietly, a small shudder running through his lean frame. “One of them had gone to my room to get my stuff and I got the dagger from my boot and tried to stab the other one, but he seemed to realise what I had been doing and he took it from me, used it to get me to do what they wanted,” Jaskier finished bitterly. “Haven’t seen it since.”

“Well, I got this one for you,” Geralt told him. “Thought it suited you…and while we’re here and Ciri is getting trained, I’m going to train you as well.”

Jaskier’s head snapped up at that, staring up at Geralt in amazement. “Wait…what?!”

Geralt grinned at Jaskier’s shocked tone and chuckled. 

“I know you’re a feral fighter when you want to be and that you have some experience with daggers,” Geralt said with a small, wry grin, “but I want to further that training, give you some experience with swords.”

Jaskier nodded, blue eyes alight with fiery determination. He looked back down at the dagger, hand tightening around the hilt momentarily before he looked back up at Geralt, feeling more confident now. 

He wasn’t going to be a prisoner, to be caged for his safety. He would be safe travelling by Geralt’s side, just like he used to, and he knew that Eskel, Lambert and Coen would be there if he ever needed them. 

If Nilfgaard did find them, or if there was some overzealous citizen who thought they could get an easy pay day out of him, they’d have another thing coming to them. Part of him was still fearful, remembering Cahir and knowing he had a target on his head…but he never let that stop him before. 

“So, when do we start?” Jaskier asked, a determined grin twisting his lips. 

Geralt smirked, amber eyes alight as he met Jaskier’s gaze. “Let’s go, Songbird.”

Jaskier carefully placed his dagger aside on the bedside table, not needing it now, and walked back to Geralt, who wrapped his arm around his shoulders. Jaskier leaned into Geralt's side as they left their room, heading down towards the training grounds.

Jaskier felt lighter, more confident with Geralt by his side, knowing that he wouldn't be left alone again, left to believe that no one would come for him.

But even he didn't know what Destiny had planned for them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnd I'm back from my holiday for the last chapter!!
> 
> First chapter of the sequel will be up soon-ish, maybe a week or so, since I'm back in lockdown again (woo) 
> 
> Thanks for all of your comments, kudos and bookmarks, they've all meant so, so much to me and I've absolutely loved reading every single comment!!

**Author's Note:**

> and here we go :)
> 
> Still figuring out how relationships will go, so nothing is set in stone yet.
> 
> Leave a comment and let me know what you think?


End file.
